


All Seasons Shall Be Sweet to Thee

by wouldyouknowmore



Series: Sweet to Thee [1]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Intersex Loki (Marvel), Jotunn Loki (Marvel), M/M, Slow Burn, vague politics
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-24
Updated: 2018-10-06
Packaged: 2019-05-03 19:25:47
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 42,799
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14575956
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wouldyouknowmore/pseuds/wouldyouknowmore
Summary: As part of their terms of surrender at the end of the war with Asgard, Jotunheim has been closed off from the rest of the Nine Realms for the last millennium. When the time comes to lift the sanctions, a diplomatic exchange is proposed, and Loki is chosen as the ambassador to Asgard. But first, he's got to play host to Odin's emissary, Thor.If they can make it through Thor's extended visit to Jotunheim without killing each other, it will be a miracle.





	1. Summer I

**Author's Note:**

> Based SO loosely on a prompt requesting several things that won’t even happen in this fic until MUCH later from Asukachan07. :D Hope you like Jotunn Loki!
> 
> *sweats nervously*

The Allfather is… not what Loki had expected. 

 

“I bid you welcome, Laufey,” Odin says, beard white as new snow and shoulders clearly stooped, even with his ceremonial armor, and he grips his spear more like an old man’s prop than a weapon. Even at a distance, Loki can see that the fingers wrapped around its haft and the arm of his vast golden throne are spotted with age and brittle-looking. 

 

_This is the ruler of the Nine Realms?_ Loki wonders to himself. Odin, the scourge of Jotunheim, the Asgardian tyrant who swept his armies across the realms and brought them to heel with an iron fist… and he looks as though a swift wind could topple him from his high seat. Loki spares a glance up at his own father, comparing the two, and wonders how this old man managed to defeat a proud Jotunn warrior nearly twice his size, even a thousand years ago. He’s not over-fond of Laufey, to be sure, but his father has hardly been touched by the centuries and is as strong and hale as he’s ever been, and Loki can admit to a rare tinge of familial pride.

 

Odin’s heir, the so-called God of Thunder, stands a step below the throne, but he seems a much more formidable opponent. He’s tall for an Aesir, maybe even taller than Loki, beard and hair shining like gold against the red of his cape (along with everything else in this realm of excess) as he frowns up at the Jotunn king. Perhaps if Odin had looked this way during the war, he could understand the old tales. But looks can be deceiving, as Loki well knows, and there’s a power seething underneath Odin’s feeble exterior. Loki is tempted to reach out with his own seidr and take the measure of the Allfather’s strength, but he doesn’t dare—and the way that one eye suddenly falls upon him, sharp and piercing, makes him wonder how much Odin truly sees. 

 

“I was told you were bringing your youngest,” says the Allfather, and Loki finds himself struggling to hold his gaze. “Yet the boy looks no more a frost giant than my own son here.”

 

“Loki can change his shape at will, Allfather, though he is small, as giants go,” Laufey says, his tone verging on apologetic. Unseemly for a king, but necessary under the circumstances; they tread on delicate ground today. “He finds an Aesir form more comfortable in this heat, he tells me.”

 

Odin watches him still, appraising, and Loki longs to tug at the collar of his Asgardian-style tunic but resists the urge. As a drop of sweat slips down the back of his neck, the sensation altogether foreign and unpleasant, Odin finally speaks. 

 

“Our blood was once mingled, Aesir and Jotnar, and it could be that he simply takes after a distant Asgardian ancestor,” he muses. “At any rate, well met, Loki, son of Laufey, and now perhaps we should get to the matter at hand.”

 

It’s a relief when Odin’s attention returns to Laufey as he continues, tone settling into one of pronouncement. 

 

“At the time of Jotunheim’s surrender,” he begins, voice carrying throughout the throne room so that even the guards stationed at the very rear can hear each word, “the agreed-upon terms included, among other things, a one-thousand-year period of halted trade between Jotunheim and other worlds, as well as the prohibition of travel to and from the realm. As this probationary period has now ended, I have summoned you here, King Laufey, to begin the reopening of Jotunheim’s borders.

 

“I will first send to you a delegate to assess the current conditions on Jotunheim. He will make observations and report back to me with recommendations on how Asgard may be of aid during this time of transition, as well as act as an ambassador of Asgard’s goodwill in order to foster peace and understanding between our realms. I have entrusted Thor, son of Odin, with this task.”

 

The Allfather’s only son and heir, sent into the heart of once-enemy territory is indeed a sign of goodwill, Loki thinks, or perhaps a clever security measure. If the crown prince were to come to harm, it would surely result in a second war, and in its weakened state, Jotunheim stands no chance of survival. Thor himself looks less than pleased with this assignment, though he makes no protest.

 

“I have also requested a representative from Jotunheim to be chosen and to return here to Asgard for a time, in order to become acclimated to our customs and to serve as an emissary between our peoples when necessary. I assume from his presence here today that you have selected your son, Loki, for this position?”

 

“I have,” Laufey says. “He is well-suited for the task.”

 

“That remains to be seen. But we shall expect you, Loki Laufeyson, at the winter solstice, when our climes may be more agreeable to you.”

 

Loki bows, though not perhaps as low as he could, and says, “I thank you for your consideration, Allfather.” It’s doubtful that he could find Asgard agreeable in any weather, but he keeps that to himself. 

 

These declarations are no more than Loki expected (aside from Odin’s choice of emissary), and after a few more official words and a date one month hence to expect their royal visitor, their brief audience with the Allfather is concluded with a symbolic horn of mead passed between the two kings. 

 

While they drink, Loki spares a glance around the throne room, taking in the details to ponder over until he returns, including the mural painted on the high ceiling, depicting Laufey and Odin, presumably at the end of the war. It’s far more idyllic than Loki would guess is accurate, and anyone unfamiliar with the details of the surrender could assume they hold a fine and fair peace treaty in their painted and gold-leafed hands. Wondering just how skewed the general Asgardian perspective may be, he lowers his gaze to Thor—and is startled to find him already staring back, expression guarded. 

 

But then they are dismissed, and Loki gives the prince of Asgard a polite incline of his head before the guards escort them out.

 

 

* * *

 

The next few weeks seem to drag on, even though Loki is kept fairly busy with preparations for receiving their guest. Aesir-sized furniture must be hastily made for a set of rooms with minimal drafts and extra braziers, the cooks and palace servants must be educated on what sort of dietary and hygienic needs the son of Odin will have, and an itinerary must be planned out and approved by Laufey well in advance. Loki seems to be the only person involved in this whole mess who’s bothered to do any reading on the less obvious differences between Jotnar and Aesir (and there was _so_ much reading involved before his first attempt at an Aesir shape), which he knows had a fair amount to do with the reason he was chosen for this diplomatic position over one of his brothers. But he never anticipated that he’d have to serve as the official expert on the subject.

 

Despite his inexperience and a shortage of time, Loki still feels that the situation is well in hand by the evening Thor is scheduled to arrive. Thor may want for vegetables at the dinner table or more hot water for bathing than he’s liable to get, but if he’s desperate, he’s always welcome to forage for lichens with the herds, or stew himself in the cook’s largest pot over one of his fires for a little while.

 

The guest suite is as comfortable as it’s going to get, however, and already stiflingly hot when Loki gives it a last minute once-over on his way down to the courtyard. He takes a moment to stoke the fires and pile a few more pelts onto the bed, just in case, and he’s also carefully chosen a few books to leave out for their guest’s perusal, all variations on the last war from the Jotunn point of view, including a few volumes about the devastating aftermath. He can’t be sure that Thor will open any of them, but it doesn’t hurt to try, after all.

 

“There you are,” Laufey says as Loki finally joins him outside. His father is flanked by only two guards (Loki’s suggestion—it’s probably best to avoid as much intimidation as possible, intentional or not), and he directs them out of the way to make room for Loki at his side… then narrows his eyes as he takes in Loki’s appearance and grumbles, “Is this really the best you could do?”

 

_No_ , is the truthful answer. Loki has a much finer cape than the sealskin he’s wearing over one shoulder (the white fur trim would have looked particularly striking against his skin and hair had he worn it), the leather and mail skirt he’s chosen is mostly unadorned, and he only made a halfhearted attempt at polishing his pauldrons, vambraces, and greaves. But he knows what his father is getting at, and it’s the very reason he didn’t take special care with his dress. 

 

“I’m wearing my crown,” Loki sidesteps, reaching up to pat one golden horn, but it doesn’t do any good as a distraction, and Laufey lets out a frustrated grunt and starts in on him.

 

“I thought we were in agreement,” he says. “You know I’ll never be able to make a suitable match for you among our people, and think of what a marriage could do for Jotunheim’s position with Asgard—“

 

“And wouldn’t the Casket of Ancient Winters make such a lovely bride price,” Loki interrupts, rolling his eyes. “Yes, I’m aware, father, but I will remind you that I never agreed to this. Besides, even if I’d pierced my nipples and draped myself in jewels to wait in Thor’s bed this evening, it wouldn’t change the fact that Asgardians think us monsters, or that Thor has probably already left a string of love-stricken maidens on every realm but ours, and Odin still hasn’t found him a wife.In the unlikely event that he managed to dredge up some interest in me, I’d likely be just be the latest exotic conquest to be bragged about when he’s in his cups, not his betrothed.” 

 

The look on Laufey’s face should be enough to halt him in his tracks, but Loki’s never really had much control over his temper. He’s angry now, angrier than he’d been when his father had first brought up the subject when they’d returned from Asgard, and he can’t seem to stop, even though he knows he’ll pay for his insolence later. 

 

“I’m intentionally ignoring the fact that you’d like me to sell myself for the good of the realm,” he continues, pointing up at Laufey in a way that has the guards awkwardly averting their eyes, “because I don’t think I need to say anything on that matter. But I _will_ say that any chance of me finding this son of Odin interesting in more than a diplomatic or academic manner vanished the moment you suggested his seduction. The truth is that nothing would make me happier than to drop the spoiled lout off the nearest cliff or leave him to freeze to death out on the ice, and I’d do it in a heartbeat if I could without condemning the lot of us. I’ve done my duty, father, and I will continue to do so, but no more than that.” 

 

There’s plenty more he means to say, and all of it would surely earn him a flogging at the very least (prince or not), but the sky suddenly opens up with an almighty crack and burst of color, a cloud of snow swirling up to meet the rainbow beam as it strikes the ground with a rumble. 

 

“We’ll discuss the matter further, be assured of that,” Laufey says, voice low and dangerous, and Loki makes no reply as he turns and puts on his best diplomatic smile. It’s not a conversation he looks forward to, not at all, but there’s nothing to be done about it at the moment.

 

The Bifrost dissipates with a flash, and Loki straightens his back and does his best to forget the threat in his father’s eyes as the God of Thunder emerges from the mist. He carries a small leather pack, and looks much as he did before the Allfather’s throne one month ago, though he’s replaced his cape with a cloak in the same garish red, trimmed in grey fur about the shoulders… and the blatant surprise on his face is new as well. 

 

“Welcome to Jotunheim, Thor Odinson,” Laufey says while Loki gives the slightest bow he can without treading into disrespect. 

 

Thor nods in acknowledgement, though he still seems bewildered, and when Loki realizes that he’s staring at _him_ , it suddenly makes sense. Thor has only ever seen him in his Aesir skin and clothing, and now the sight of him blue and bare-chested seems to be a shock. But he’ll just have to get used to that, Loki thinks, clearing his throat and attempting to shake off his annoyance. 

 

“I thank you, Laufey,” Thor finally says, tearing his gaze away. His voice is deeper than Loki had expected. “I thank you for your welcome, as does my father, and I look forward to renewing the bonds of peace between our peoples.”

 

“And we’re honored by your presence,” Loki replies, stepping forward. “Would you care to follow us in out of the wind? I’d hate to see you frozen solid so soon.”

 

His glance at Laufey just then is a mistake, since his father looks almost murderous, but he turns and leads the way without comment, and Loki falls into step beside their guest. As they walk, he notices Thor darting looks in his direction from the corner of his eye, but he resolves to at least get through dinner before threatening him with violence over the gawking. Surely Thor will get over his appearance soon. 

 

(And regretfully, he sees now that, yes, even this Asgardian is taller than him, if only by a bit. The indignities will never cease.)

 

“I nearly didn’t recognize you,” Thor suddenly says to him. “I know you’re a shapeshifter, and Laufey said you were small, but I thought you would be… I don’t know…”

 

“Taller?” Loki asks, grinning at him instead of snarling as he’d prefer. 

 

“Maybe… or that you’d look more like your father. Is this your natural form?” 

 

Thor’s expression, now that Loki is able to study it up close, reveals no contempt or revulsion. It’s not a very kind face at the moment, but perhaps not malevolent, and Loki decides to humor him this once (and hopefully be done with the subject for the remainder of Thor’s visit). “It is,” he says. “Perhaps the Allfather was correct about my inherited Aesir traits.”

 

“Are there more Jotunns like you?”

 

“‘Jotnar’ is the plural,” Loki corrects. “And no, not for a long while.”

 

He faces forward again, but catches the appraising look that Thor gives him before he does. It’s of no consequence though. He knows what he is, and some spoiled Asgardian prince’s opinion of him won’t change anything. 

 

“So you’re unique,” Thor concludes after a moment, and Loki tries not to scoff. 

 

“That’s one word for it.”

 

“Hm… I could think of several more.”

 

It’s quiet, like Thor is just talking to himself, but Loki doesn’t care at all for his thoughtful tone, so he picks up his pace to catch back up to Laufey with his longer strides, and lets Thor hurry along after. 

 

 

* * *

 

 

The welcome feast is a subdued affair, with only the royal family in attendance. Laufey haltingly attempts conversation while shooting Loki threatening looks, Helblindi glares across the table at their guest in obvious contempt of the no-intentional-intimidation rule, and Byleistr keeps glancing between Loki and Thor in a suggestive manner that will earn him a poisoned breakfast in the morning if he doesn’t knock it off soon. (Why Laufey shared his absurd little plan with Loki’s brothers is beyond him, but he’ll have to set that record straight immediately, he sees.)

 

It doesn’t help that, even though Loki thought to have Thor’s quarters furnished according to his size, he neglected to have another high bench made for the formal dining hall, and so Thor is sharing with him so that the table is within reach. Unfortunately, the seat is barely wide enough to accommodate the both of them, and Thor keeps elbowing Loki in the ribs by mistake. If Loki hadn’t put away his horns for dinner, he’d be tempted to give a swift turn of his head and try for one of those alarmingly blue eyes, make him match his father—but then Laufey is giving him an urging glance that brooks no argument, and Loki holds in his sigh. 

 

“I hope the meal is to your liking,” he says, waiting until the moment Thor takes an enormous bite, then enjoying the sight of him scrambling to chew and swallow quickly before he can answer. 

 

“The meat is rarer than I’m used to,” Thor finally gets out, “but it’s fine, thank you. What sort of animal is this?”

 

“Reindeer.” 

 

“Ah, we have those in Asgard as well, though we don’t eat them. I didn’t know any lived on Jotunheim.”

 

“I’m sure they look quite different from those on Asgard. But they’re our chief source of sustenance. You’re drinking fermented reindeer milk, as well.” 

 

Thor makes a face, but hides it quickly. “I see,” he says, eyeing his horn carefully.

 

Encouraged by this response, Loki continues, “We normally eat the meat raw, since we have very little fuel for fires, and little need for them in the first place, but I made sure to let the kitchens know you would probably prefer it roasted… Of course, we’ll be visiting some of the herdsmen out on the plain while you’re here, and you’ll likely try it the traditional way for yourself then.” 

 

As Thor struggles to come up with a polite reply, Loki grins a little wider and adds, “I do hope you like heart. They’ll likely serve you one whole and still beating, as an esteemed guest.”

 

It’s a lie, of course, and Byleistr snorts into his own horn and passes it off as a coughing fit while Laufey fumes at the head of the table. But Thor only gapes a moment before saying, “I would be honored. May I ask where else we’ll be traveling during my stay?”

 

“I thought it best to start off slowly,” Loki says, pointedly avoiding eye contact with his father, “and so we’ll just be walking the palace and grounds tomorrow. We can venture out into Utgard the day after, and then we’ll start our small tour of a few outlying settlements later this week. There isn’t time to see all of Jotunheim, of course, but I think a visit to the plains to see the herds and one to the coast will be sufficient to give you an idea of how we’re getting along.”

 

“The coast?” Thor asks, confused. 

 

“Yes, it’s where the land meets the sea,” Loki says before he can stop himself, and quickly tries to save the situation when Thor’s expression darkens at the sarcasm. “We do have seas, though one might believe the whole realm frozen—an easy assumption to make, to be sure—and our people that live on the coasts fish and hunt seals and whales, that sort of thing.”

 

Thor makes no reply, except to give him what is genuinely a dirty look, and Loki has to admit that he’s a little impressed with its intensity, especially after all the courtly manners Thor has exhibited so far. But it’s clear that Loki has pushed both his father and the God of Thunder a bit too far this evening, so he gives all his attention to his plate and lets an uncomfortable silence fall over the table for the rest of the meal.

 

 

* * *

 

 

That night, after he shows a stony-faced Thor to his quarters, Loki slips back to his own, careful to go quietly and unobserved for fear of his father’s wrath. He’s sure that a long and unenjoyable lecture is the very least of what he’s due for, but it’s unlikely that he’ll have to face any more than that while Thor is visiting… but that doesn’t mean he’s in any rush to see Laufey just yet. 

 

His rooms are softly lit in golds and greens via enchantment, and he dims the light with a wave of his hand as he makes his way through to the bedchamber, stripping off his armor and clothing as he goes. He’ll have to be more cautious tomorrow, he knows, frowning at his reflection as he sits down in front of the mirror. 

 

This was never going to be an easy role for him to fill, not with his sharp tongue, but he’s already erred quite a bit more than he had allowed for this early on. Angering his father was bad enough, but the best way to avoid the ramifications of that is to spend all his waking hours in Thor’s presence, and here he’s gone and insulted his intelligence as well. 

 

Tomorrow, though, he’ll start afresh with Thor, and be on his best behavior, he thinks. As he works his hair into a loose plait for bed, he tries on a few sincere-looking smiles in the mirror, settling on a mildly apologetic variation that, combined with breakfast delivered to his door, should do the trick. 

 

Satisfied, Loki extinguishes the lights entirely and climbs into bed. His first full day of playing the good little ambassador begins bright and early, and he has a feeling he’ll need all the sleep he can get.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for joining me on this ridiculous adventure that I didn’t intend to take! Why does this keep happening to me! :D
> 
> Anyway, have some notes!
> 
> **Aesir:** Look I know that ‘Aesir’ is plural, but I’m just using it for the singular too. Loki would delight in calling Thor an Ass, but that could be kinda jarring.
> 
> **Politics:** I know next to nothing don’t @ me I’m making this up as I go
> 
> **Loki's Look:** We're going with TDW/Ragnarok-length hair, traditional Jotunn armor with a half-cape in sealskin done over one shoulder, even when he's not wearing his armor. Think somewhere between classical Roman fashion and Ezio Auditore lol. As far as his ‘crown’ is concerned, that’s just what I’m calling the open version of his helmet from Ragnarok. Because let’s get real, that’s the least functional helmet ever.
> 
> I’ve written several chapters ahead with this one, so I’ve got a clear idea of where it’s going. I'm also working on my Thorki Big Bang, but I'll do my best to keep the updates coming in a regular fashion.
> 
> Oh, and one more thing: I did not consider the acronym when I chose the title. ASSBSTT. Incredible. But it's a line from Samuel Taylor Coleridge's poem "Frost at Midnight," which is another title that fits the theme and makes me happy.
> 
> Come see me on [tumblr](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/) if you’re into it <3


	2. Summer II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which a palace tour doesn't go as planned, and a day trip into the city results in some awkward conversation.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome back! 
> 
> I'd like to remind everyone that the tags do say Intersex Loki up front here, so if you missed it and aren't into it, now you know. Also, brief mentions of mpreg will start happening every now and then due to that, but it's not a central theme of this fic.
> 
> (But don't forget, this is slow burn, people. Don't get excited yet lol.)

‘Well-rested’ is not how Loki would choose to describe the son of Odin when he answers his door first thing in the morning, but his glare quickly mellows into more of a tolerant frown when he sees the tray that Loki bears. Three slightly charred fish may be a poor excuse for breakfast in Asgard, but Thor only mutters a quiet _thank you_ and invites Loki to sit on the new, roughly-hewn bench in his outer chamber while he tucks in. 

 

“Did you sleep well?” Loki ventures after a little while. The answer is obviously _no_ , judging by the dark circles beneath his eyes, but asking is only polite, isn’t it? 

 

“I can’t say that I did,” Thor admits, then holds up one of the books that Loki had left for him. “I spent most of the night with this historical volume, however, and I think that I’ll recommend a large shipment of books be sent here once I return to Asgard.”

 

For half an instant, Loki thinks he could actually fall in love with this furry-faced oaf, but then Thor adds, “It seems that most of yours are incorrect,” and shatters the moment. 

 

“In what way?” Loki asks through gritted teeth. 

 

“Well, this account of the war completely misrepresents Asgard’s motivations for engaging. Your Aurboda here neglects to mention that my father was simply protecting Midgard, and almost makes it sound as though we attacked a small scouting party looking for resources.”

 

Which _was_ , in fact, the case, to hear any Jotunn who survived the war tell it. But Loki has already resolved to keep things civil with Thor today and can’t afford to start an argument this early, so he takes a deep breath and says, “Cultural bias, perhaps. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time to discuss our shared history while you’re here.”

 

Thor doesn’t quite look convinced, and Loki sees that this is probably going to come up again, and not in an enjoyable fashion. But his job is to show Thor—and ultimately Odin—that Jotunheim is prepared to reenter society in a non-combative manner and would best do so with Asgard’s aid, and he doesn’t think that coming to an agreement about the initial cause of the strife between their realms will be required. All he needs to do is behave himself a little while longer, and soon this will all be over.

 

* * *

 

Behaving himself is more of a trial than Loki could have imagined, but the entire morning passes without an overtly unkind word between them, though there are a few close calls. The palace isn’t exactly a ruin, but it’s certainly seen better days, and so far Loki’s greatest struggle has been not asking Thor who could be to blame for that every time the Asgardian looks at another crumbling wall with disdain, or comments on the dimly-lit passages with snow accumulating in the corners.

 

(It was also particularly difficult to hold his tongue when Thor asked mid-morning when the sun would be rising properly, and Loki had had to look out a window to make sure it wasn’t just him. In the end, he had managed to calmly explain that the sun _was_ up, but was simply much dimmer than the blinding light of Asgard.)

 

After they break for a midday meal, Loki takes them out to the grounds, and Thor instantly perks up when they spot several warriors huddled around the sparring ring, shouting insults and encouragement while two more grapple on the ground. One of them is Helblindi, and Loki grimaces as his brother finally knocks out several of his opponent’s teeth with an ice-encrusted fist and leaves him reeling. 

 

“Loki,” Thor says urgently, tugging at his cape with more familiarity than he’s displayed so far (and far more familiarity than Loki cares for), “would it be impolite of me to—”

 

“Yes,” Loki insists, certain of what Thor’s thinking, and pulls away from his grip. “Yes, it would, and it wouldn’t be a good idea even if it were appropriate. Helblindi’s a brute. He wouldn’t hold back.” And it wouldn’t do to send Odin’s heir back home damaged, not even from a ‘friendly’ sparring match, but he doesn’t say that.

 

Unfortunately, his words have the opposite of the desired effect, and Thor’s face lights up. The eager grin transforms him, making look younger, and Loki thinks that he’d like nothing better than to slap it off his face. But since that isn’t really an option, he directs Thor toward the opposite side of the courtyard, and says, “Come along, the library is in this wing. Best stick to the schedule, don’t you think?”

 

Though with obvious reluctance, Thor follows… And then it’s yet another close call when he takes an appraising look around the library, peeks around a corner, and says, “Oh, this is all of it.” It’s only by reminding himself that the lout is his only hope of getting new books that Loki is able to ignore this comment, and thankfully, the enormous volume laid out on a nearby lectern catches Thor’s attention then. 

 

It’s large even by Jotunn standards, its skin pages intricately illustrated, and Thor climbs up onto one of Loki’s many step-stools scattered around the room order to examine it more closely. “Is this Utgard?” he asks. 

 

“Yes, as it was before the war.” 

 

“This is beautiful artistry,” Thor says, sounding offensively impressed (as though he didn’t think a Jotunn would be capable of such work). “These colors above the city… What are they supposed to represent?”

 

Loki steps up next to him, careful to avoid his broad shoulders, and sees where he’s pointing. “Those are lights,” he says. “Do you have the aurora on Asgard?”

 

“No, but I have heard of the phenomenon. Is that what this is?”

 

“Something similar. Since the light is so weak here, the first Jotnar conjured their own,” Loki says, gesturing with one hand, and waves of multicolored light appear above their heads. “The elders tell me it looked a great deal like this.”

 

For a moment, Thor gapes up at the lights, lips parted in surprise, but then he turns to Loki and gasps, “You’re a sorcerer!”

 

Loki nods, and with another quick gesture, the entire room is illuminated in green and blue, the waves multiplying and spreading up towards the high ceilings. 

 

“My father and mother are as well,” Thor says. “Is it a common gift on Jotunheim?”

 

“No. It never was, but now that the Casket of Ancient Winters is gone, there have been no new seidr-wielders born at all. I appear to have been the last.”

 

Brows furrowed, Thor looks back down at the book in front of them. “You said the elders told you what the lights looked like… You haven’t seen them yourself?”

 

A snap of his fingers ends the enchantment, and Loki reaches over to turn a few pages back and says, “I have not. They also came to an end when the Casket was taken—this is it, here.” 

 

The Casket is depicted in shimmering blue, resting on its pedestal high above the central courtyard of the temple, and just like every time Loki sees this illustration, he feels an acute pang of loss. 

 

“Ah, yes, I’ve seen this in our vaults,” Thor says, manner entirely unaffected as he bends down to get a closer look, and Loki has a sudden and intense urge to bury a dagger in the back of his exposed neck. The thought of this Asgardian bastard having laid eyes on the Casket when Loki himself never has, the idea that it lies in some keep of stolen relics while Jotunheim is slowly crumbling to dust… Loki takes a shaky breath and steps down from the lectern, trying to calm himself, but it’s all for nothing when Thor speaks up again. 

 

“I am sorry for the loss,” he says. “I would have liked to see Utgard illuminated so.” 

 

It’s finally too much. 

 

“You’re _sorry for the loss_?” Loki says incredulously, turning back to face him. “Just who do you suppose is responsible for it?”

 

His sharp tone leaves Thor dumbfounded for a moment, but soon he’s marching down off the stool as well, eyes flashing angrily. “The Casket is a dangerous weapon,” he says, “and my father couldn’t have been expected to just leave it here!”

 

“Then he should have slaughtered us all outright and been done with it!”

 

Thor scoffs. “What could you possibly mean by that? It’s a power source. It isn’t—”

 

“Integral to Jotunheim’s survival?” Loki interrupts. “Look around you, Odinson. Don’t you think we would have rebuilt after all this time if it weren’t? But Utgard is falling to pieces, and we’ve lost more than enchanted lights and a handful of sorcerers.”

 

There’s a brief hint of doubt in Thor’s eyes, he’s sure. “Our population is declining,” Loki continues, “and our herds are dwindling. Cut off from the other realms this way, we have nothing to trade for, no outside assistance… And even if the Allfather ends the sanctions, it’s only going to delay what will inevitably come to pass. The Casket is the heart of Jotunheim, its lifeblood, and without it, in another few millennia, we will either have to leave or come to ruin. That’s what’s at stake here. That’s what your father took from us.”

 

Thor’s face turns thunderous at this, and he huffs, “If Jotunheim wasn’t prepared to pay for their actions, your people shouldn’t have attacked Midgard in the first place.”

 

“We _didn’t_ ,” Loki half-shouts, seething. “It _was_ a scouting party, and when they happened upon a village, some Midgardian went and prayed for rescue, thinking them monsters. Asgard didn’t bother to ask questions before they attacked.”

 

Thor rolls his eyes and says sarcastically, “Oh, and I suppose you know this because you were there.”

 

“Neither were you!” Loki hisses, but bites his tongue around the _imbecile_ he wants to add to it. The damage is already done, though, and Thor mutters something unintelligible under his breath as he storms from the room. 

 

“I’ll find my own way back to my quarters,” he says from the doorway, and Loki kicks his stool across the room with a clatter once he’s gone. 

 

* * *

 

The rest of Loki’s afternoon and evening is spent in blessed solitude, aside from the quick conversation he has with a servant to arrange the delivery of Thor’s dinner, and by the following morning, he’s resolved himself to a day of terse conversation surrounded by tense silences. 

 

He’s planned a short jaunt into Utgard, so that Thor can see how his people live outside of the palace, and though he hopes that the change of scenery will do them some good, he doesn’t fool himself into believing that today will go any better than the day before had. As much as he’d like to feign illness and leave his guest to his own devices today, the fact remains that he has a job to do, and he hasn’t forgotten how much is riding on this exchange, so with no small amount of reluctance, Loki dresses, ties his hair back from his face in anticipation of a windy day outside the palace walls, and heaves out a sigh before he leaves his rooms to face his duty. 

 

The prince of Asgard is quiet as they walk down to the gates, and as soon as they get out into the wind, he wraps himself in his cloak, and his face all but vanishes into the fur at his collar and his loose hair blowing around his head. (Which is fine, as far as Loki’s concerned. The less he sees of Thor, the better.) The palace is situated on a shelf of rock high above the city, and though the road down the face of the cliff is wide enough for several Jotnar to walk abreast, it’s completely exposed to the elements, and the howling of the wind in their ears doesn’t allow for conversation. 

 

Loki hopes that Thor is taking in the cityscape below them and comparing it to the illustration he’d seen yesterday, noticing the caved in roofs and empty streets along the edges of town, but there’s nothing he can do to make sure of this, so for now, he just keeps his eyes on the path in front of him and the flapping of his own cape around his knees. 

 

From what Loki had seen of Asgard on his walk up the Bifrost bridge, he knows that Utgard must be entirely underwhelming to Thor, and would have been even in its prime. The buildings are built of stone and low to the ground (by Jotunn standards at least), and a good quarter of the city is hidden half underground in one of the soaring caverns carved out of the face of the cliff. The market is there, sheltered from the harshest winter storms, and that’s where Loki takes them once they arrive at the city gates. 

 

It’s busier than the last time Loki had wandered down into the city, the pale summer sunlight always seeming to draw people out, but still, half the stalls are empty and the aisles between them are quiet. Loki remembers getting lost in the crowds as a child, smaller than Jotnar half his age, but now even someone that size would have trouble slipping through unnoticed.

 

“I’m sure it’s nothing compared to your markets on Asgard,” he says, turning to Thor, “but this is the most densely populated area on Jotunheim.” 

 

“Truly?” Thor asks. “I had no idea there were so few of you here.” 

 

“It wasn’t always so,” Loki replies, but leaves it at that for civility’s sake. 

 

He leads Thor through the maze, feeling nearly every eye in the market upon them, but the people that meet his gaze all dip their heads respectfully and go back to gawking at the Asgardian at his side. Each vendor they pass mutters a quiet _my prince_ , but even if anyone knows who Thor is, no such respect is given to him, and few Jotnar even bother to look away when Thor catches them staring. 

 

At least Thor seems to be taking his assignment seriously today, and he examines all the goods on display closely as they walk, from the meat and fish at one end of the market to the ropes and netting at the other, asking the merchants about their wares for a little while, but quickly growing frustrated when he’s met with brusque replies at best. After the furrier outright snarls at Thor for touching a pelt laid out on his table, and Loki is forced to step in with a harsh word about respecting the king’s guests, Thor makes fewer inquiries, and directs all of them to Loki instead. 

 

Animal hides, bone, and oil are inspected, followed by a lengthy visit to a smith’s stall where Thor pays special attention to the weaponry and armor, and frowns when the Jotunn piecing together a scale mail skirt stops his work and covers it with a scrap of leather when he sees Thor watching. The bookseller ignores Thor entirely while he wheedles Loki about trading some of the foreign volumes in the palace library for whatever drivel he’s managed to scrounge up, but then they finally come across someone willing to hold a conversation at the healer’s small shop nestled into a cavern wall at the back of the market.

 

Hyndl is only vaguely known to Loki, but greeting him by name is enough to have him bowing low and thanking his prince for the compliment. “I am honored to be remembered,” he says to Loki’s feet. “How can I be of service to you?”

 

It’s the best opportunity they’re going to get short of Loki commanding someone to speak, so he seizes it. 

 

“You may rise,” he says in his most regal tone (which usually both impresses the common people and subtly reminds them that they’re obligated to obey). “This is Thor, son of Odin, a guest of my father. He’s here to further his understanding of our realm, and would like to ask a few questions of you, if you have a moment.”

 

The healer looks at Thor uncertainly, but says, “Of course. Welcome, Odinson.”

 

“I thank you,” Thor says. “What is your trade—Hyndl, is it?”

 

“Yes, my lord. I am a midwife primarily, but I practice all the healing arts.”

 

Thor darts a questioning glance at Loki, but continues. “And do you lack for any resources to heal your patients, Hyndl?”

 

Unsure what to make of the question, Hyndl pauses, and Thor adds, “Compared to the conditions before the war, I mean.”

 

“We are… limited in our means,” Hyndl admits. “My mother was a healer before the war and kept many herbs and medicines on hand from other realms, but we have had to go back to the old ways now that those are no longer available.”

 

“The old ways?”

 

“Ancient Jotunn remedies,” Loki says. “They’re sufficient in many cases, but can be less effective.”

 

Hyndl nods in agreement. “My son lost an arm to infection two winters ago, though it might have been saved if we had the root of a plant native to Vanaheim. But the last of it was used ages ago.”

 

“You said you are a… a midwife as well?” Thor asks, though Loki isn’t sure why he seems to stumble over the word. (Surely the All-tongue can manage a concept that common.)

 

“Yes. My services aren’t required as often these days, however.”

 

Thor frowns and asks, “Why is that?”

 

“There are fewer pregnancies, my lord. And even fewer live births that result from them.”

 

It’s clear that Thor is thinking back to Loki’s words in the library yesterday from the look on his face, and finally, he asks, “Would you say that the loss of the Casket of Ancient Winters has contributed to this decline?”

 

“Undoubtedly,” Hyndl replies without hesitation, and Loki takes care to keep his own expression neutral when Thor looks in his direction. “Jotunheim can only support a small population without its power, and we were too many to thrive when it was taken. It’s been the subject of many discussions among the healers for centuries.”

 

Thor takes a moment to mull over this information, and then seems to come to some sort of decision. “Would you be able to make a list of the items you most sorely need?” he asks. 

 

“My lord?”

 

“A list, detailing which medicinal plants and supplies you need the most that cannot be obtained on Jotunheim,” Thor says more authoritatively, squaring his shoulders. “Prepare it and deliver it to the palace, and I will see that these items are among the first shipments, along with a large stock of the healing stones that we use in Asgard.”

 

Hyndl doesn’t quite bow to Thor, but he does bend at the middle a bit as he says, “Yes, my lord, I will.”

 

“Then I believe we’ve taken enough of your time,” Loki says. “Thank you, Hyndl.”

 

A few more gracious words are spoken, but once they leave the healer’s shop, both of them are quiet, Thor lost in his own thoughts, and Loki watching him from the corner of his eye, wondering what effect that conversation will have. They’ve seen most of the market, so Loki takes them back out into the city in the opposite direction, leading Thor through the mostly-empty, cracked streets and past weather-worn statues. He nearly speaks up to identify one of the more recently added figures as his late mother, just to have something to say, but decides it’s best to let Thor be for now.

 

They’ve nearly made it back to the gates when Thor breaks the silence himself.

 

“Is it common,” he asks hesitantly, “for males to assist with childbirth here?”

 

Loki can only blink at him in confusion, at both the unexpected nature of the question and the question itself—and then he has to bite sharply down on his tongue when he realizes the level of ignorance he’s dealing with. 

 

“Thor,” he starts, in what he hopes is a very patient, not at all condescending tone, “Jotnar are single-gendered.”

 

He’s met with a blank stare, so he tries again. 

 

“There are no males or females, like the Aesir. We’re all the same, for the most part.”

 

Thor opens and closes his mouth twice before he manages to say, “But… for reproductive purposes—”

 

“We can all sire children as well as bear them.”

 

“I see,” Thor says, then pauses… and then quickly adds, “but how exactly—”

 

“I’m _quite_ sure that I can find you an educational book back in the library,” Loki interrupts. His voice may have gone a bit shrill then, it’s true, but at least Thor has the decency to look embarrassed. 

 

“I—forgive my intrusion,” he says. 

 

A few minutes pass in silence, and just when Loki starts to think that topic of discussion is safely finished, Thor says, “It does make sense, though. I’ve been wondering when I would see a Jotunn woman, after all.”

 

Loki snorts in spite of himself, and says, “I’m afraid to ask how you imagined them looking,” and to his surprise, Thor lets out a bark of a laugh.

 

“As well you should be. But I must say that I was very confused yesterday evening while reading Vafthrudnir’s account of the war. He kept referring to his spouses and his children in a way that seemed very strangely worded at the time, but now I think I understand.”

 

As they start the climb back up to the palace, Loki thinks that yes, Vafthrudnir _would_ be particularly hard to follow if you read it thinking in Aesir terms… He’d been married three times, borne children to each husband, and each husband had borne him children as well. His recounting of the war was a compelling read though, deeply personal and full of loss, but didn’t really touch on the bigger picture outside of Vafthrudnir’s experience. And as a matter of fact, Loki distinctly remembers _not_ choosing it for Thor for that very reason… but it’s always possible that he’d picked it up by mistake.

 

When he gets back, however, he’ll still have to decide on Thor’s next book. The question is, does he choose a medical text on reproductive biology with illustrations, or without them?

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now for a note about Jotunn Biology™! Since it probably won't be explicitly described in the actual fic (being Loki's POV, and considering the fact that it is what it is for him), I'm just gonna give you the breakdown of how that looks here. Genitally speaking, for those who just need to know. Loki (like the majority of Jotunheim) has both a penis and a vagina, with the penis positioned where a clit would be, and testicles are internal. 
> 
> Body Parts Talk over. But like my high school biology teacher said to the gigglers during sex ed, if you can't talk about it, you shouldn't be doing it. ;)
> 
> My [tumblr link](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/) now comes with an additional [Sweet to Thee Inspo tag](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/tagged/sweet-to-thee-inspo)! It's still a little sparse, but I'm not actively hunting for posts to put in there just yet. 
> 
> See you next time, when things start to get more interesting...


	3. Summer III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which our boys begin their road trip across Jotunheim, awkward conversation topics continue, and the tent is small.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey you guys like reindeer right

With Utgard and the palace covered, Loki spends the next few days preparing for their excursion away from the city, while Thor spends most of his time shut up in his rooms, apparently reading and collecting notes on what he’s seen so far to take back to Asgard. There’s plenty to be done, so Loki sends servants to deliver Thor’s meals and doesn’t actually see him until the morning they’re due to depart, when Thor steps out into the courtyard with his pack slung over one shoulder, his hammer hanging at his belt, and a pair of soft-looking leather gloves on his hands. 

 

“Just a moment, and we’ll be ready,” Loki says, checking the straps of his saddle. “You can put your things on the sled here.” 

 

“You were right about Asgardian reindeer looking different,” Thor says as he approaches. “Is everything enormous and blue on Jotunheim?”

 

“They’re obviously grey,” Loki huffs, and turns to help Thor tie down his pack. 

 

“Bluish grey, maybe.”

 

Loki rolls his eyes and finishes checking over their mounts and the skin-lined sleds hitched behind each. Thankfully, there seem to be more and more stunted deer these days, with the state of the herds (and Jotunheim as a whole), so he was able to find two of a suitable size for Thor and himself to ride. And if Thor thinks that this pair is large, he has quite a shock coming once they reach the plains. 

 

“Oh, I meant to thank you for sending the, ah, physiology book,” Thor suddenly says, looking a bit flustered. “The illustrations were… enlightening.”

 

“Think nothing of it,” Loki replies, and truly means that. The less Thor thinks of what’s beneath Loki’s loincloth, the better for everyone. “And now I believe that’s everything. If you’re ready?”

 

It only takes a moment for Thor to find his seat with the unfamiliar mount, and soon they’re making their way back down the cliff, headed north and west away from Utgard. The jarl of one of the herding clans had replied to Loki’s message two weeks ago, suggesting a meeting place along the grazing trail as they drive the herds further north for the summer months, and while Egdir had said that they would be honored by their prince’s visit without acknowledging that Thor would be coming along as well, Loki isn’t too worried about the welcome they’ll receive. 

 

For now, he’s more concerned about spending the next three days alone with Thor out in the wilderness, where there won’t be anywhere for either of them to storm off to if tempers flare again. They’ll likely spend a week with Egdir’s people, following the herd, and that should give them a reprieve from the solitude, but then it’s a nearly two-week ride to the first of the villages along the coast afterward. 

 

He’ll just have to exercise restraint, Loki thinks as they skirt around the city and start a slow descent into a canyon just beyond the western walls. It helps that Thor is both quiet and in what appears to be a pleasant mood this morning, and as they slip single file down the narrow path to the floor of the gorge, their deer’s hooves thudding softly in the powdery snow, Loki could almost forget that his Asgardian guest is even behind him. 

 

* * *

 

The sun slipped beyond the edge of the canyon rim hours ago, and though Loki knows it still hasn’t set over the horizon outside, the temperature has dropped drastically here below, and Thor’s constant sniffling has him calling a halt for the evening. 

 

“No, it’s fine,” Thor protests. “I can continue as long as you like.”

 

“Then you can stop, because I only want to continue as long as it takes to find a cave to sleep in. Your nose and cheeks are red, Thor. Is that normal?”

 

“Yes, if it’s cold, or hot, or if one is particularly embarrassed by something. Do Jotnar not flush?”

 

Loki doesn’t bother answering that, since he spots a shadowed gap in the canyon wall across the way. “Over there,” he says, pointing. “That one may serve.”

 

They cross the shallow stream, Loki glancing behind to ensure their waterproofed packs aren’t submerged too far, and Thor gasping as his reindeer’s hooves splash icy water up against his legs. There are no animal tracks in the snow outside the cave, but Loki dismounts and peers in cautiously to make sure it’s empty, revealing the dark corners with a burst of golden light. 

 

Their mounts are tied outside and their packs dragged inside, and after a bit of digging, Loki finds a pouch of dried fish for their dinner and a small supply of kindling that should last them until they reach the forest and can restock. While Thor steps in to get the fire going, Loki pulls out their bedrolls and arranges them—on opposite sides of the cave, with intention. 

 

“Don’t get too used to that,” he cautions as Thor pulls off his gloves and boots and huddles up close to the fire, fanning it higher. “We’ll be in the tent after tonight, and there won’t be room for a fire inside.” 

 

“You expect me to sleep in the snow with no fire?”

 

“No, I expect you to sleep wrapped in my heaviest winter furs, out of the wind in a weather-proof tent while I roast in there with you. I won’t let you freeze, though I may die of heatstroke this evening if you don’t stop building that fire up.”

 

Thor gives him a skeptical look, but sighs and leans back onto his elbows. “If you insist,” he says. “But if we’re to be in such close quarters for such a long while, I think I ought to get to know you better, Loki. Tell me something of yourself.”

 

“I beg your pardon?” 

 

“I only know that you’re a shapeshifter and sorcerer,” Thor says, counting off on his fingers, “you’re third in line for the throne, and you’re small for a giant. And you don’t like me, of course.”

 

Loki looks up and finds Thor staring at him in challenge. So that’s the shape of it? Now that they’re out here on their own, the courtly manners are dropped, and Thor wants an unreserved conversation? He’d surely regret that, Loki thinks, so he doesn’t take the bait. _Restraint_.

 

“I don’t know you well enough for an informed opinion,” he says evenly. “And you’re here to learn of Jotunn culture as a whole. I don’t think my personal experience is representative of the rest of the population, being ‘unique,’ as you said once.”

 

“But you are part of the population, are you not? Here, I’ll help. Do you have many friends?”

 

“I never want for company,” Loki sidesteps. The sooner this questioning is over, the better.

 

“And what do you enjoy doing in your spare time?”

 

Well, then.

 

With a grin, Loki replies, “Reading,” summons a book, and proceeds to stick his nose into it, effectively ending the conversation.

 

“Oh, very mature,” Thor mutters under his breath.

  

* * *

  

In the morning, Loki wakes first and stumbles out of the cave yawning. He’s certainly slept better than he had last night, the cave too warm and the ground too hard, but at least Thor hadn’t snored, and had left him alone after he had made it clear that he wasn’t interested in talking.

 

The stream is frigid and so very welcome as he splashes his face and has a drink, and it’s here that Thor finds him (too soon), unwinding his hair from its braid and retying the top half back away from his face for the day. 

 

“The water is colder than you’ll like,” Loki says without turning when he hears Thor’s footsteps behind him, “but I’ve brought a small pot if you want to heat some over the fire.”

 

Thor only hums in acknowledgement and doesn’t move, and after several long moments of silence, Loki looks back over his shoulder to see what’s holding him up. (They haven’t got the whole morning to waste, after all.)

 

Thor is staring again, however, and Loki huffs in frustration. He’d thought they were beyond this, but apparently not. “Is there something on my back or what?” he asks sharply. 

 

“Well, yes,” Thor says, slowly looking up to meet his eyes. “You’re always wearing that cape, so I didn’t know there were more markings there as well. What are they, anyway?”

 

“Clan lines,” Loki says, not elaborating, but of course that isn’t answer enough for Thor.

 

“Are they scars? Is that something Jotnar do to themselves?”

 

Loki rolls his eyes and climbs to his feet. “No, sorry to disappoint you. We’re barbaric, to be sure, but these are just part of my skin.”

 

“That’s not what I meant,” Thor grouses. “Some Midgardian peoples scar and ink themselves for ritual or cosmetic reasons, so I just wondered if it was similar.”

 

_Well, I wouldn’t know the first thing about Midgard, would I_ , Loki wants to say, but chooses to stop that particular argument before it can start. _Restraint_ , he reminds himself, and says instead, “They’re hereditary marks, and all Jotnar are born with them. If I met a stranger who didn’t recognize me from my size, it would be obvious that I’m of Laufey’s blood by my lines.

 

“But we should be on our way soon. We need to cover more ground today if we’re to meet the herds on time.”

 

With a nod, Thor finally moves, and within the hour, they’re packed up and moving on. 

  

* * *

 

“So Loki,” Thor starts once they’ve emerged from the canyon two hours later, the sun shining warmly enough that he’s removed his cloak and draped it over his reindeer’s hindquarters, “what does one call the spouse of the king on Jotunheim?”

 

Clearly, this is the way things are going to be for the rest of this excursion, Loki thinks with regret.

 

“‘Your highness,’” he says with an arched eyebrow, and Thor gives him an exasperated look.

 

“Don’t be purposefully difficult. What was your—your mother? Did you call him mother or father?”

 

“Mother,” Loki answers. “Does that sound strange to you?”

 

Thor gives a shrug. “A bit, but I’m acclimating,” he says. “So was he called the queen, or a king also…?”

 

“Consort.”

 

“Ah.”

 

The foothills are passing by in gradually smaller slopes of white and grey, a few sparsely dotted with tough trees, and in the afternoon, Loki spots a wolf lurking off in the distance. He’s about to point it out to Thor, but the prince of Asgard chooses that moment to pose another prying question and catches him off guard. 

 

“Are you married, Loki?”

 

“I’m sorry— _what?”_

 

“Married,” Thor repeats. “Or betrothed. Or, you know, seeing anyone… casually.”

 

Loki stares at him, and is nearly knocked off his reindeer by a low-hanging tree branch, but Thor just stares back, waiting for an answer. 

 

“You did read the book I sent you,” Loki says, recovering his balance. “The one about reproductive biology?”

 

“Aye?”

 

“And you have… your own personal experience in intimate matters, I assume.”

 

“Ah… aye…?”

 

“Then please tell me how you think that works for someone of my size in a realm full of Jotnar of usual stature.”

 

After a moment to ponder this, Thor gives an excellent demonstration of the flushing he’d described earlier, his face and ears turning an alarming shade of pink, and he stammers out an apology. “I didn’t think—I—forgive me, I just—”

 

“Look, Thor,” Loki interrupts, summoning all his patience. “I understand that it’s a new and difficult concept for you, but if we could _please_ not discuss anything related to such very, _very_ personal matters for the rest of your time here…?”

 

“Of course. I’ll not mention it again. You have my sincerest apologies.”

 

He looks sufficiently contrite, so Loki lets it go, and thankfully, Thor is quiet the rest of the day. 

  

* * *

  

That night, the two of them manage to get the tent set up without too much difficulty, and remarkably, without Loki wanting to strangle Thor at any point. The prince of Asgard seems well-adjusted to outdoor life, and immediately grasps how the poles and skins of the tent fit together—and more importantly, he takes Loki’s direction without a fuss or question. 

 

They’ve camped in a hollow between two low hills, sheltered from the wind, and after Thor builds his campfire (closer to the tent than Loki would have done), dinner is eaten, and the flap of the tent is tied shut, they bed down in what Loki belatedly sees is a much smaller space than he’d realized. The tent is made for a single Jotunn of average size, and while it’s served Loki well in the past, it’s less spacious than he remembered. Thor elbows him twice in an attempt to get comfortable, and one of Loki’s knees finds its way into the small of Thor’s back (purposefully, not that he’ll admit to it), but they eventually settle back-to-back with several layers of pelts (most of which are wrapped around Thor) to separate them. 

 

And then, as with all good things, Thor’s penitent period of silence ends, just when Loki has started to think the lout could, in fact, shape up to be a decent individual with a little more instruction. 

 

“You’re warm,” Thor says quietly but surprised, and Loki scoffs into the fur beneath his cheek. 

 

“A cold-blooded creature wouldn’t survive five minutes on Jotunheim, Thor.”

 

“I know that,” Thor huffs back, then continues in the same soft tone as before. “I just… You’re much warmer than I had anticipated.” 

 

“And lucky for you,” Loki sighs. “I’m keeping you from freezing, after all.” 

 

Thor shifts around a bit, bumping Loki in the backside accidentally, and once he’s still, he says even more quietly, “I want to apologize again.”

 

Loki opens his eyes and stares at the wall of the tent just in front of him, and the soft, flickering light upon it cast by the fire burning low outside. “I told you,” he says slowly, “I understand. It isn’t what you’re accustomed to. But you don’t have to bring it up—”

 

“No, not for that,” Thor cuts in. “I mean, I do feel very sorry about that, but I meant for more than that. For everything, really. I’m beginning to see that things are very different here than I had believed… and I just wanted to apologize for the way I’ve acted.”

 

‘Surprise’ doesn’t quite cover what Loki is feeling, but he’s saved from having to reply to this little speech when Thor adds, “You don’t have to say anything. I can’t promise that I won’t continue to make insensitive remarks, but I beg your patience. I will try my best to learn.”

 

Thor has annoyed him from the start of this whole venture, but he’s now found a new way to frustrate Loki: being damnably _good_ when he’s supposed to be a spoiled, arrogant prick. 

 

“I like snakes,” Loki says, resolutely closing his eyes and burrowing into his furs. It’s an idiotic thing to say, but, Ymir help him, it’s all he can think of on short notice. 

 

“I… beg your pardon?” Thor says hesitantly.

 

“You wanted to know more about me, didn’t you? I’ve never seen a snake, except in books, but I don’t know… something about them appeals to me.”

 

When Thor speaks again, Loki can practically hear the smile in his voice. “We have all sorts of snakes in Asgard,” he says. “I’m very fond of them myself… clever creatures. I’ll make sure you get to see one up close when you visit, I swear it.”

 

Loki gives him a quiet _hm_ of acknowledgement, and after that, it doesn’t take long for both of them to fall asleep. 

 

* * *

 

The third day passes more quickly than the previous two had, with Thor in a cautious but optimistic mood, and Loki… not actively wishing him harm.

 

The hills finally give way to a vast expanse of tundra, with large patches of frozen ground peeking out through the melting snow, and far off in the distance, a grey blur disrupts the horizon. By evening, it resolves into several thousand individual reindeer and a few outriding Jotnar keeping stragglers in line, and just as the sun begins to dip behind the herd, a small group of riders branches off, hailing their prince from a distance as they head toward a small rise covered in moss and lichens. 

 

They are met rather more informally than Loki’s used to, Egdir and his sons not even bothering to dismount, much less bow, though Thor’s shocked face makes up for this slight annoyance as he takes in the size of their mounts, towering high over his own.

 

“Highness,” Egdir says, reining up alongside Loki. “Pleasant journey?”

 

“As well as can be expected,” Loki says and cuts a glance at his traveling companion (Thor doesn’t notice, and is still craning his head back to look one of Egdir’s sons in the face). “Thank you for allowing us to impose upon your hospitality.”

 

“It’s not often we have royalty in our midst, so you may find that hospitality lacking. But it should suit well enough, even for the son of Odin.”

 

Thor gives Egdir a nod of his head and says, “I’m sure it will be more than sufficient.”

 

Further pleasantries are exchanged, though they are few, and soon enough Loki and Thor are following the jarl back to the main column of the herd, where his people have already set up camp for the night, and are busy with evening tasks. Deer are dressed for eating, hides oiled and tanned, tools and clothing mended, and while there aren’t many of them, at one point Loki spies a small group of children peeking out curiously from behind a tent at Thor and himself as they pass. 

 

They’re hosted for dinner in Egdir’s tent, large enough to comfortably seat twenty fully-grown giants (plus one small one and an Aesir), crosslegged upon the floor. As predicted, the venison is served raw, with the exception of two barely seared, fatty slices of cheek, laid before the royal guests as the choicest cut. 

 

“Still-beating hearts, hm?” Thor says quietly in Loki’s ear, breath tickling his cheek as he leans over and pretends to adjust his seat. 

 

“Perhaps they aren’t _that_ honored by your presence,” Loki whispers back, and coughs to cover the sound of Thor snorting in amusement. 

 

In what is a refreshing change of pace (as far as Loki’s concerned), the jarl interrogates Thor throughout the entire evening, asking a multitude of rapid-fire questions regarding the current political climate in Asgard (mentioning generals and well-known warriors of a millennium past by name), how the other realms fare under Odin’s rule, matters of economy and state, and memorably, whether any art in Asgard features Thor’s Jotunn grandmother, Bestla, in his natural form rather than the female Aesir face he was forced to adopt upon marrying Borr. 

 

For the most part, Thor does admirably, never once hesitating over his mostly uncooked meal and answering each question thoroughly where he can (and smoothing over those he can’t). The way he’d grimaced when asked about Odin’s mother had nearly been cause for offense, but overall, Loki would (almost) admit to being impressed with his composure and tact.

 

In fact, once they’ve settled in for the night, back in their little tent once more, Loki considers telling Thor just how well he’d done, but he’s spared that particular trial when Thor speaks up and does it himself.

 

“I think that was quite a success,” he says, turning onto his back and jostling Loki. “Egdir is a tough one, but I handled him nicely. Wouldn’t you say?”

 

“You didn’t butcher it entirely,” Loki mutters, instantly annoyed with his cocky tone. “But we still have a week to get through, so I wouldn’t become overconfident if I were you.”

 

He can’t see Thor, laying on his side as he is, but he gets the distinct feeling that the Asgardian is glaring at the back of his head. But then soon enough, Thor’s rolling back over, jostling Loki again (a bit more forcefully this time), and apparently that’s the end of that.

 

* * *

  

Thor does actually make it through the week without any major missteps, to Loki’s surprise. He seems to be honoring his promise to try his best, and begrudgingly, Loki has to give him a fair amount of credit for that. 

 

There had been one notable incident, however, when Egdir had asked Thor over dinner the second evening how he was finding Jotunheim so far, and Thor, in oblivious honesty, had said how surprised he was at the warm welcome Egdir had extended him, at Loki’s ‘patient’ instruction, and at the rich culture of the Jotnar as a whole. 

 

“So you thought us savages?” Egdir had demanded, tone suddenly harsh, and before Thor had been able to do more than stammer out an apology, the jarl had continued, “I’ve seen real savagery, boy, and it was dealt by Asgardian hands more often than not!”

 

It had taken every bit of Loki’s diplomatic skill to diffuse the situation, since Thor had swelled in angry indignation at the slight upon his people’s honor, and nearly caused even more of a ruckus, hand twitching over the handle of his hammer, but eventually tensions had subsided, though that had been the last time the princes had been invited to the jarl’s tent for dinner.

 

In contrast, the rest of the week had gone very well indeed. There wasn’t much opportunity for conversation with Egdir’s people (and therefore few chances for unintentional insult), since the herd moved from sunrise to sunset, and everyone else’s mounts stood high enough that talking was difficult while riding, though Thor had managed to endear himself with one of Egdir’s sons on the third day. 

 

A deer had split off on its own, and Fjalar, Egdir’s youngest, had followed, motioning for the royal guests to come along if they wished, and they’d arrived just in time to help it deliver a too-small but healthy-looking calf. Loki himself had felt a great deal of sympathy for the mother, cringing inwardly at the idea of giving birth himself, but Thor had surprised both of them by actively praising the deer throughout the whole ordeal, telling it (quite uselessly) how well it was doing and to stay strong—the worst was nearly past. Fjalar had been so impressed with this little display that he hadn’t even noticed when Thor attempted to determine the calf’s sex and turned shamefaced away upon realizing that Jotnar weren’t the only single-gendered species on Jotunheim. 

 

(Two hours later, once the calf and mother were up and moving with the herd again, Loki had overheard Fjalar speaking with Egdir, enthusiastically telling his mother what ‘the Asgardian’ had done. Egdir may not have sought Thor out specifically after that, but he had at least treated him with less open contempt.)

 

Surprisingly, Loki had also found that he’d made quite an impression on the clan himself, though his admirers were all of an age to be even shorter than him. He’d noticed a few children lurking about his and Thor’s tent on the first night, and by the fourth, their number had doubled, and one brave soul had finally come forward (after Thor had retired) to beg his highness for a small demonstration of his magic, if he didn’t mind too much.

 

Loki had _not_ minded too much, and left the dozen of them dazzled with shower of green sparks and golden birds that flitted around their heads… except for one awful, disrespectful little brat who had asked loudly, “Prince Loki, are you going to marry Prince Thor?” _His_ bird had transformed into an enormous, slavering wolf with burning eyes, and sent the boy fleeing back to his mother in terror. 

 

To make matters worse, Loki had begun to think that this wasn’t just an isolated incident of childish ignorance. Soon after, he’d noticed the way the elders stared, not just at Thor, as he’d thought at first, but at both of them as they rode together, ate together, sat by Thor’s little campfire each night before crawling into their tent together… and he cursed their unwelcome speculation (to think that he would just take up with the first Loki-sized person to stroll into Jotunheim—as though he were that desperate), the way he’d slipped into a mostly-comfortable routine with Thor without realizing it, and his father once again, for bringing up the idea of it in the first place.

 

By the time dawn breaks on their last day with the herd, Loki has already put a great deal of effort into distancing himself from the Asgardian, but so far this has only led to Thor being more proactive in seeking out attention elsewhere. He’d spent the last three evenings chatting with Fjalar about the herds and life out in the plains, and Loki’s fairly certain he’d heard the two of them laughing about _goats_ of all things last night. 

 

When Egdir bids them farewell that morning, Thor reaches up to grasp Fjalar’s forearm like a brother in arms, smiling as they take their leave, and Loki just barely manages to keep from rolling his eyes at this. But after a few regal, official-sounding goodbyes and expressions of gratitude, they’re on their own once more. 

 

“I think I actually enjoyed myself,” Thor says, grinning at Loki after he climbs into his saddle, and with a glance skyward to summon his patience, Loki gives his reindeer a nudge and turns it east, back toward the mountains. It will take twelve days, minimum, to cross over them and reach the coast, and all of his willpower not to throw Thor from a high precipice somewhere in the middle. 

 

When Thor, riding alongside him, suddenly asks, “So Loki, third prince of Jotunheim, sorcerer and admirer of snakes, what else will you tell me of yourself?” Loki changes his estimate. 

 

He gives his self control three days, at most.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> TENT SHARING.
> 
> That is all. 
> 
> Come yell at me on [tumblr](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/) if you want <3


	4. Summer IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get worse before they get better, the road trip continues, and Jotunheim is cold.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick warning for some canon-typical violence this chapter. (It’s just the one scene.)

In the end, it only takes two days for Loki’s patience to finally snap.

 

He bears the first with long-suffering grace, facing question after question and irritating familiarity from Thor, who’s in high spirits after his successful week with the herding clan. Loki has come to understand that it isn’t so much his traveling companion’s easy nature with him that grates on his nerves, but rather the realization that he had allowed himself to slip into a comfortable rhythm with Thor days ago without even noticing. He’s done his best to discourage further backsliding, but Thor’s good mood is unshakeable, and even Loki’s terse replies and long silences don’t faze him. 

 

The next day is quieter as they make their way into the foothills. The trees are denser than they had been further south, and the chance of roaming predators higher, so Thor saves his chatter for that night at camp, when the fire can scare off anything lurking in the woods. Before he turns in, he tells Loki good night with a hand on his shoulder, and it’s all Loki can do to let him have it back still attached to his arm. 

 

Ignoring the fact that Thor seems to consider him a friend now, and, in spite of his best efforts to convince himself otherwise, Loki has also come to realize that he’s undeniably impressed with the progress that Thor has made since their first full day together more than two weeks ago. It isn’t an easy admission for him to make, and in hindsight, the fact that he _had_ admitted it to himself plays a fairly significant part in what happens their second morning on their own. 

 

Breakfast has been eaten, the tent is disassembled and stowed away, and while Loki ties down their packs on the sleds, Thor douses the fire with snow and finally wraps up what’s been a half-hour retelling of everything he’s learned since arriving on Jotunheim. 

 

“But what I can’t understand,” he says, scooping another handful of wet slush over the coals, “is why everything is so _different_ from what I’d been led to believe in Asgard—and I mean this as inoffensively as possible, Loki, but the fact remains that our songs and tales paint your world and your people in a very different light.”

 

Loki throws a glance over his shoulder, but Thor is just looking at him earnestly while he dries his hands on his cloak, draped over a nearby tree branch. “And why exactly does that surprise you?” he asks Thor with a sigh. 

 

“Well, look at Alfheim, or Nidavellir, or Vanaheim,” Thor says. “I’ve traveled to each many times and never noticed such discrepancies between the histories and reality.” 

 

Truly, Loki had been certain they were beyond this sort of thing by now, and his disappointment and frustration is evident in his tone as he says impatiently, “Yes, and Alfheim, Nidavellir, and Vanaheim never put up the sort of fight that Jotunheim did, and surrendered to Asgard’s rule with much less bloodshed. The victor writes the history books—you must know that.”

 

“What do you mean ‘surrendered?’ And you make it sound as though Asgard has deliberately misrepresented fact just out of spite.”

 

Thor steps closer as he speaks, closing in right behind Loki, and the proximity has his temper flaring even further. “Look, Thor,” he hisses, turning and drawing himself up to his full height, moving into Thor’s space in retaliation. “Do you think that Odin just dropped in on the other eight realms and politely asked them to bend the knee? How do you think we all came to be under his rule?”

 

“There were treaties, and negotiations,” Thor starts, brows furrowed in anger now as he clearly sees what Loki’s getting at, but Loki cuts him off there. 

 

“Oh, don’t be so naive. You heard what Egdir said about Asgardian savagery. Your father may have renounced his bloodthirsty ways in his old age, but Jotunheim remembers him as the ruthless conqueror he once was, even if the rest of the realms pretend it was never so!”

 

“I will warn you but once,” Thor says then, low and dangerous. “I’ve tolerated your veiled insults and obvious disregard for me all this time and held my tongue, but you will have a care how you speak of my father.” 

 

_Or what_ , Loki means to say then, but Thor punctuates this little pronouncement with a finger jabbed firmly in the center of his chest, and just like that, reason leaves him entirely. 

 

Thor never sees it coming, and so the punch that Loki throws hits him square in the mouth and sends him stumbling backward in shock. But Loki only has seconds to pause and realize what he’s done while Thor brings a hand to his lip and draws it back bloody, and then it’s far too late as Thor lets out a furious cry and brings them both crashing to the snow with a shoulder slammed into Loki’s gut that leaves him gasping for air. 

 

“You _dare_ ,” Thor practically growls, leaning back and raising a fist, but Loki regains his wits fast enough to catch Thor’s arm before he can land the blow, and within seconds Thor is crying out in pain and rage as his steel gauntlet freezes over and shatters under Loki’s touch, the cold burning through his sleeve and blackening the skin beneath. 

 

The sudden crack of Thor’s forehead against his own stuns him long enough for Thor to crawl backward off of him, clutching his frostbitten arm… But then Loki spots that ridiculous hammer, just inches out of reach, and makes a mad dive for it while the bastard’s distracted, glancing behind him to line up his swing as he grasps the handle and pulls, meaning to bring it around with all the force he can muster and lay Thor flat with his own weapon, just for the poetry of it—but suddenly he’s facedown in the snow, bewildered as to how he got there until he realizes that the stupid hammer hasn’t budged an inch, and he’s been brought low by his own desperate tug. 

 

Loki shouts his frustration at the sky, pulling with both hands and all his might, but he’s so blinded by fury that he doesn’t even think to give up and let go, not until Thor’s back and blocking his airway with an exceptionally strong arm clutched around his neck from behind. For several terrifying moments, Loki is pinned, unable to move or breathe, but then he sees that Thor’s bare hand is just _there_ , and he sinks his teeth into it in one last effort to free himself. It works, and Thor lets go with a curse, leaving an opening that Loki doesn’t let slip away. 

 

It ends in seconds, with Loki bowling Thor over backward, straddling him and pinning him to the ground, and then calling the ice to his hand and pressing his newly-formed, razor-sharp blade to Thor’s throat.

 

“Give me one more reason, Odinson,” he spits, and means it. He cares nothing for Jotunheim now, nor his father or the Allfather or even his own life, if only Thor will give him the satisfaction. “Just the one.”

 

Thor glares back, blue eyes burning with fury, but seeing he can’t win this, he slowly raises his hands in surrender—then catches sight of the teeth marks on the back of his hand and says incredulously, “Did you _bite_ me?!”

 

The timing of this question is… unexpected, but Loki just bares his teeth in a snarl and presses his blade harder, watching a thin red line appear across Thor’s skin. 

 

What’s even more unexpected is that Thor suddenly bursts out laughing. 

 

“That’s reason enough for me,” Loki decides aloud, and draws his knife back for a killing blow. 

 

“No, no—wait!” Thor splutters, eyes widening. “I yield! I yield!”

 

Loki hesitates a moment, letting his anger slowly dissipate, and once he sees the relief on Thor’s face, he flings away his blade and flops over into the snow, disgusted with the situation and the stupid prince of Asgard and his idiotic self.

 

“I confess,” Thor says after a moment, “I underestimated you, Loki Laufeyson.”

 

“Oh, shut up for once in your life,” Loki mutters back, and blindly kicks out at Thor, catching him in the side with a heel. 

 

“Oof—that was a compliment, you wretch,” Thor huffs. “But well-fought, if a little dirty. … And perhaps well-reasoned, though I am loath to admit it.” 

 

Thor hauls himself to his feet then, and offers Loki a hand up. Loki very seriously considers freezing it solid, but then he sees the black and purple marks spreading up Thor’s other arm and decides against it, accepting the assistance without looking him in the face. 

 

“Perhaps I have some hard truths to face when I return to Asgard,” Thor says as he reaches up to brush the snow off of Loki’s shoulders, “and harder questions to ask my father. But I thank you for the lesson.”

 

Loki can think of no reply to this, but then Thor grins and adds, “Even though you did try to kill me.”

 

* * *

 

It turns out that Thor had brought along a few Asgardian healing stones, in case of emergency, so by the time they reach the mountains several days later, his arm is good as new, and Loki wonders what the healers of Jotunheim will think of the stones once the first shipments arrive. 

 

Their relationship, whatever that may be, is on the mend as well, and by their fourth day into the mountains, that easy rhythm Loki had observed before seems to be back to stay. They ride side-by-side where they can, though the path has narrowed considerably on the climb up to a high pass, and while Thor still hasn’t quite learned to mind his own business, Loki’s evasive answers more often than not have him changing the subject, respectful of his space.

 

They do have more to talk about now, however, since Loki has begun sharing his personal store of books that he keeps tucked away in a pocket dimension. Thor had watched him summon one the night after their scuffle and asked if there were any more where that had come from, and Loki had given him a put-upon sigh, but gave in and retrieved him a battered collection of poems from Alfheim that had been acquired before the war. The next morning, when Thor had asked for his opinion of one lay that Loki knew was heavily earmarked and annotated, the conversation had gotten them through the middle of the afternoon, leaving Loki surprised at the silence when it had finally fallen. That night, Loki had handed him a new text without a word, and the following days had proceeded in a similar fashion. 

 

But now the road is hard and treacherous and narrow, and the snow that had begun to fall once they crossed their first high ridge has now turned to stinging sleet, so Loki stops them beneath what is probably the last stand of trees they’ll find until they come down the other side of the pass. 

 

“Close enough to nightfall for me,” Loki shouts over the wind as he dismounts, and without wasting any more time, they quickly tether their mounts, set up the tent, and crawl inside for cover. 

 

“How much more of this do you plan to put me through?” Thor asks, but his tone is playful, and he pulls off his cloak and shakes out his soaked hair.

 

“Well, I could leave you here,” Loki offers. He summons a little light to rummage through his pack by, and once he finds his heaviest, warmest bearskin cloak reserved only for the most frigid days of winter, he passes it to Thor. “You’ll probably need this tonight. But we should be through the worst of it when we cross over the pass tomorrow, and if it’s clear enough, you should have your first look at the sea.” 

 

Thor has the nerve to actually _sniff_ his cloak then, but he quickly averts his eyes and wraps it around his shoulders when Loki catches him.

 

“If that will please your sensitive royal nose,” Loki says to him with a glare, “then we had best eat something and get to sleep now. I doubt we’ll be able to get a fire to light in this weather.”

 

Halfway through the night, Loki wakes with a start, convinced that the shaking of the tent means an earthquake, or worse, an avalanche, but as he regains his bearings and calls up a light, he sees the cause, and lets out an annoyed sigh. Thor is _shivering_ , intensely enough to have practically vibrated Loki awake. But it _is_ rather cold in the tent, Loki must admit, and judging by the way the walls are bowed in, they’re half-buried in accumulated ice.

 

But a fire is out of the question, and since all of the furs Thor’s rolled up in don’t seem to be enough to keep him warm, adding the one that Loki’s been curled up under won’t make much of a difference…

 

_“Aesir,”_ he mutters like a curse under his breath, resigning himself to a long, uncomfortably warm night, and prods Thor (though more gently than he might have done before). 

 

“Wha—what’s wrong?” Thor grumbles, squinting at the light, his lips almost blue with the cold. “What is it?” 

 

“You’re going to freeze to death,” Loki replies pleasantly. 

 

“Will you let me sleep if I do?”

 

Rolling his eyes, Loki starts peeling pelts off of him, but Thor tries to scoot away from him as he does. “Are you trying to kill me again?!” he complains. 

 

“No, you idiot. I’m going to save your troublesome skin and cook in my own in the process. Now quit being a nuisance and get out from under these, just for a minute.”

 

It takes more than a minute, but soon enough, Thor is out of his wrappings and chafing his arms and hands while Loki rearranges their bedrolls and the furs. Satisfied with his work, he crawls out of the way, and points to the center of their new little nest.

 

“On your side, facing that way,” he says. 

 

Thor eyes him warily, but does as he’s told. When Loki gathers up an armful of pelts and settles in behind him, however, he sits upright and says, “What in the Nine are you doing?!”

 

“Lay down and hush,” Loki grouses, “unless you actually do want to freeze. I put off a fair bit of heat, remember?”

 

If his teeth weren’t chattering, Loki imagines Thor would put up more of a protest, but they are, so he gives Loki one last worried look and lays back down. “If you insist,” he mumbles. 

 

Loki’s going to regret this, he knows, but he drapes the heavy bearskin over the both of them then, and piles on a few more for good measure, mostly over Thor. With that sorted, he extinguishes the light and shuffles in right up against Thor’s back, ignoring the way he jerks at the contact, and tries to find something to do with the arm he’s now laying on that won’t cut off his circulation. 

 

As expected, it only takes a few minutes for Loki to start thinking about burying himself in the snow outside, but Thor has stopped shaking, and judging by his breathing patterns, he’s already dropped off again. Neither of them smell wonderful, thanks to weeks on the road with limited bathing opportunities, but that’s easier to ignore than the heat, and once Loki wriggles most of his upper half out from under the pelts, the soft rise and fall of Thor’s back pressed against his chest quickly lulls him back to sleep.

 

* * *

  

In the morning, Loki wakes up overheated, with a mouthful of blond hair, and what has got to be the single most mortifying involuntary physical reaction he’s ever had in his life. Thor is soundly asleep still, so Loki bites his lip and shifts his hips away from the warm ass snuggled back into them. It takes a bit of doing, but—thank the Norns—he manages to disentangle himself without alerting Thor to the erection pressed against his backside, and by the time Thor rouses half an hour later, Loki’s already convinced himself that it had never happened, dug out the tent, and started a fire. 

 

“Morning,” Thor says with a yawn as he sticks his head out of the flap. 

 

Loki looks up at the sky, feigning surprise, and says, “So it is.”

 

“Since I’ve survived the night and am here to see it, I suppose I should thank you.”

 

“I would have had to drag your frozen corpse all the way back to Utgard,” Loki says, shrugging. “It’s better for everyone involved this way.”

 

Thor gives him a smile, and then disappears back inside the tent to pull on his boots.

 

* * *

The weather has improved considerably, and while there are a few tricky spots where they’re forced to dismount and lead their reindeer over the rocky terrain, the pass is behind them by midday, and the descent down the other side of the mountain is a far smoother trek. 

 

The clouds clear in the afternoon, so they take a quick detour away from the road on foot, tying up their mounts and climbing up onto a wide shelf of rock above the path. The view is unobstructed from up here, and they can see where the foot of the mountain meets a wide stretch of ice that eventually gives way to the sea, the dim sunlight glinting off the water on the horizon. 

 

“The coast,” Loki announces, though it’s quite obvious what they’re looking at. 

 

“Ah, where the land meets the sea, or so I’m told,” Thor says, then cuffs Loki on the shoulder in gentle vengeance for the old slight. “Do we have time to stop a moment?” 

 

Loki doesn’t see why not, so he tells Thor so, and they arrange themselves on the ledge, feet dangling over the sheer drop to the valley below. Once Loki has pointed out the major landmarks along the water’s edge, they sit in silence while their reindeer snuffle below and the wind blows at their backs. 

 

It’s the fourth week since Thor arrived, and on one hand, it doesn’t seem possible that it’s gone by so quickly… but on the other, Loki’s beginning to feel like they’ve been traveling together for years. He’s not quite sure if that’s a good thing or a bad thing, but when he looks over at Thor from the corner of his eye, he sees that Thor is already looking at him, a soft smile on his lips and his blue eyes crinkled at the corners. 

 

“Is there something on my face?” Loki huffs, but Thor just tips his head back and laughs.

 

“Not a thing,” he says. “But perhaps we should continue. I just wanted to appreciate the view for a little while.” 

 

As they climb back down to the road and into their saddles, Loki reflects back on the last week, and realizes that Thor’s been rather good about… well, _everything_ since their fight in the foothills. And when Thor falls into pace next to him, his hair blown back by the wind, Loki decides that perhaps he could share something personal, since that seems to please Thor for whatever reason, and maybe he’s earned it.

 

“Did you know,” Loki says, “that I’ve never met another Jotunn with hair?”

 

“Oh?” 

 

“It’s likely one of those latent Aesir traits. But I actually used to shave it off as a child in an attempt to fit in. Obviously, that was never going to work, so once I came to accept what I am, I let it grow.”

 

“I’m glad of it,” Thor says, looking him over. “Your hair is quite lovely. It suits you.”

 

Whatever else Loki had planned to say stalls on his tongue, and when Thor just stares at him a little longer, his own golden locks whipped into his face ridiculously by a sideways gust, Loki moves to a different tack. 

 

“Thank you,” he says, his voice a bit strained at first. “But my point is that, in spite of being the only person with hair in the entire realm, I’ve somehow managed to discover a way to keep it out of my face, instead of letting it fly all over the place like Asgardians apparently do.”

 

Thor lets out a bark of laughter, and tucks his hair behind his ears ineffectively. “Perhaps I’m a poor example,” he says. “I haven’t ever bothered with it, so you’ll have to show me how to tie it back as you do, then.”

 

Loki replies with a noncommittal _hm_ , and then has to resist the urge to reach up and touch his own hair the rest of the way down the mountain.

 

* * *

  

They reach their first village along the coast three days later, though the actual sea itself hasn’t been visible since they reached the flat span of land at the base of the mountains. The people they meet are not nearly as friendly as those of the herding clan had been, so when little information is forthcoming, Loki explains to Thor how the ice use to recede all the way to the village in the summer centuries ago. Now, it stays further out each year, melting less and less, and more than half of the population that once made their homes here have relocated further out, in order to be closer to the water. 

 

They only stay one night before moving on, but Loki uses his princely influence to secure them actual beds (too large) and rooms (too cold—for Thor, at least) indoors for a change, and in the market the next morning, he replenishes their food stores. The vendor charges him double what he’s sure the day’s catch is worth (there have always been fewer royalists here on the coast), but the fresh fish is a welcome change from the salted and dried variety they’ve been eating for days. 

 

The rest of the villages they stop in over the next few days offer more of the same, little conversation and more evidence of hard times, though one seal hunter reluctantly allows the two of them to follow him out onto the ice one day near the end of their tour. Thor seems eager to prove his hunting prowess, but unfortunately, there are no seals to be found all morning, and Loki suspects that their presence will be blamed for that, whether it’s true or not.

 

In the end, Thor buys his own sealskin back at the settlement with Asgardian gold, the spots and coloring of it similar to the cape that Loki favors. 

 

“I’m stimulating the economy,” he tells Loki later, when questioned about what he means to do with it.

  

* * *

 

When the week is up, and they’ve turned back west toward Utgard, Loki realizes that he can remember very little of what the people they’d met had said or done the last week… but he can recall perfectly what books he and Thor had discussed, and what Thor had thought of coastal life, and how polite Thor had been, even when he wasn’t receiving the same courtesy in return. 

 

The sixth week has arrived by the time Loki spots the palace spires, reaching up from the high cliff, and he has to pause a moment to make sure that he’s kept track of the dates correctly. It seems impossible that they’ll be back tomorrow, and that Thor will be leaving just a few days after. 

 

“Oh look,” Thor says a little while later, once he sees the palace as well. “I didn’t realize we were so close to home.”

 

Loki darts a look at him then, but Thor is just taking in the view, apparently unconcerned that he’d just referred to Utgard as ‘home.’

 

* * *

 

Time does not slow down once they reach the palace, though it does momentarily come to a screeching halt after Thor has excused himself back to his rooms (for a long, warm nap next to the fire, he says), and Loki sees his father storming down the corridor in his direction.

 

It’s then that he realizes that he has neglected to send a single message the whole time they’ve been away. 

 

“Four and a half weeks!” Laufey booms, and Loki raises his hands in supplication. 

 

“Father, I gave you the itinerary before we ever left,” he says, “and we’ve returned on time, haven’t we?”

 

“That isn’t the point, and you know it well,” Laufey says, towering over him and eyes blazing. “You have done as you pleased and faced minimal consequences for far too long, my son, but that ends as soon as the Asgardian has gone. I haven’t forgotten your audacity the day he arrived, and our conversation on the matter is long overdue. You will _not_ —”

 

“There you are, Loki,” Thor suddenly interrupts from out of nowhere, and Loki and Laufey both snap their heads around to look at him in surprise.

 

He’s just come around the corner, a book in hand, and judging by the tired but cheerful look on his face, he doesn’t seem to have noticed the tension in the air. 

 

“Pardon my intrusion, Laufey,” he says with a little bow, and hands the book to Loki. “This is one of yours, and I would hate to have taken it back to Asgard by mistake and deprived you of it until winter.” 

 

He smiles at them both then, squeezes Loki’s shoulder fondly, and disappears back down the hallway. 

 

For a moment, Laufey watches him go, and Loki watches his father’s expression slowly turn from anger to confusion, before it finally settles on smug satisfaction. 

 

“Hm. Well done, boy,” he says, and pats Loki on the head like he’s a child, and then he’s striding off in the opposite direction, ire seemingly forgotten. 

 

Later, when Loki has scrubbed the travel grime from his skin and hair and draped himself over his sorely missed bed, he finally understands what his father must think he’d done to improve Thor’s mood so drastically. 

 

“Oh, for Ymir’s sake!” he shouts at the ceiling, disgusted.

  

* * *

  

In spite of the current (and patently false) assumptions about the nature of his and Thor’s relationship, when he collects Thor from his rooms the morning he’s scheduled to depart, Loki has opted for his finest white fur cape and mail skirt, though he skips his formal armor and horns. Thor wishes him a good morning, and then they join Laufey and a small contingent of guards and servants in the courtyard, all gathered to see the prince of Asgard on his way. 

 

After depositing his pack on top of the faded scorch-mark left by the Bifrost the last time, Thor faces his Jotunn hosts with his head high and shoulders squared, and gives Loki the smallest hint of a nod before turning to Laufey.

 

“Your highness,” he says, dipping his head respectfully, “I thank you for your kind hospitality during my stay here, and for the welcome the Jotnar have extended me. I confess that I knew next to nothing of Jotunheim before I arrived, but I see now how greatly I have erred in thinking your realm and people of little interest to me.

 

“But you have my solemn word that I will do all in my power to ensure that Jotunheim and its people prosper. I have learned much of your need, and your resilience, and I intend to meet with my father this very day to discuss what aid Asgard will be providing.”

 

(The Casket of Ancient Winters would do wonders, Loki thinks to himself, but Thor can’t possibly promise that just yet, and he doesn’t begrudge him the omission.)

 

“You have our thanks,” Laufey says, “and we will await further word.”

 

With that, Loki is sure this first half of their diplomatic exchange has come to a close, but Thor surprises him one last time by stepping forward, taking hold of his hand, and whispering, “And I promise not to tell my father about the assassination attempt.” 

 

Loki lets out a snort, and ignores the way Laufey looks at him like he’s lost his mind. 

 

“I’ll see you at the winter solstice,” Thor adds, his grin wide, and then he’s backing up into place and shouting, “Heimdall, if you’re ready!” up at the sky. 

 

Within seconds, the Bifrost descends, and Loki sees that Thor is still smiling at him as he’s borne away.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus concludes our Summer!
> 
> ~~You bet I turned that tent-sharing into huddling for warmth with little spoon!Thor. Fight me.~~
> 
> Fair warning, the next installment is a quick interlude that’s significantly shorter than the rest, but I’ll be posting Chapter 6 (in which we start the Winter portion of this fic) sooner than usual because of that. Stick with me here. <3
> 
> As usual, come yell at me on [tumblr](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/), and check out the [Sweet to Thee inspo tag](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/tagged/sweet-to-thee-inspo) while you're there.


	5. Autumn Interlude

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude before winter arrives, in which Jotunheim starts receiving special deliveries from Asgard... and so does Loki.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Like I said at the end of CH4, this is a really short update here, but I'll be posting CH6 next week as penance :)

To everyone’s surprise but Loki’s, the Bifrost brings messengers and the first several dozen crates of goods within a week of Thor leaving. It seems that the prince of Asgard is as good as his word, and this shipment is entirely comprised of medical supplies, foreign herbs and potions, and hundreds of healing stones, packed with instructions on their use and assurances that more would be sent shortly. 

 

Loki meets the guards and porters himself for the first month or so, wearing his Aesir face and clothing to put them at ease, but once the Asgardian visitors grow accustomed to the more typically-sized frost giants that receive their deliveries, Loki leaves them to their business, and concentrates instead on distribution throughout the realm and working with his father’s council of elders to determine what more is needed. 

 

Nets and ropes and fabrics begin to arrive soon after the medicine, followed by building materials for the repair of the city, and an enormous supply of hay meant for the herds of reindeer struggling to graze.There’s something new every week, and despite a sizable portion of the population refusing aid from Asgard on principle, most of the people in Utgard learn to look forward to the bright flash and earth-shaking blast of the Bifrost that announces the next delivery of goods. There’s been no word on when trade with outside realms will be allowed to resume, but Loki is sure the matter will be discussed while he’s in Asgard during the winter, and the merchants and craftsmen have already begun chatting in the market about increasing production for when the time comes to export their wares.

 

One afternoon at the start of Utgard’s brief autumn, there’s a knock at the door of Loki’s study, and he doesn’t get the opportunity to ask who it is before Byleistr comes barging in, a trunk marked with glowing golden runes tucked under one massive arm. 

 

“Special delivery,” his brother says with a leer, and Loki ignores what that could possibly mean in favor of snapping back at him. 

 

“I see that Father’s given you a promotion in your royal duties,” he says. “Carrying parcels! What an honor.”

 

“Quiet, runt,” Byleistr says, dropping the trunk just inside the door. “This one’s from your pet Asgardian, just for you. Should I let Father know to expect an offer of marriage soon, or are you just a bed-warmer at this point?”

 

His brother dodges the shard of ice flung at his face, but only just, and it leaves a thin cut across his cheek before thudding into the wall behind him. It does its job, though, and Byleistr gives Loki one last sneer before he leaves, shutting the door after him. 

 

(He really should have set the record straight about him and Thor by now, but honestly, Laufey has been far more tolerant lately, giving him all manner of space and lenience, and it’s too good to let go of just yet.)

 

(Also, the fact that Loki had, in fact, _literally_ warmed Thor’s bed is something he’ll keep to himself until his dying day.)

 

But the trunk _is_ marked with his name, and curiosity gets the better of him the instant he’s left alone with it, so he quickly throws back the lid to find—

 

“Books,” he says to himself, grinning. There are stacks and stacks of them, brand new leather bindings gleaming and titles stamped in gold on the covers, but then he sees two wrapped packages tucked in a corner, one large and soft, the other small enough to fit in the palm of his hand. 

 

He opens the smaller one first and finds a golden brooch, fashioned like a snake twisting over and around itself, with tiny emeralds set in its eyes. It’s beautifully detailed, and Loki stares at it, taking in the way the light plays over its scales for some time before he remembers there’s more. 

 

The second package turns out to be a cape, cut in the fashion that Loki prefers, and made of a fur softer than any beast on Jotunheim. It’s black as night, and when he holds it up to see the drape of it, an envelope flutters from its folds and lands on the floor. 

 

_Loki,_ the letter inside begins, in a surprisingly small, light hand, and when he sees that it’s three pages long, he lets out a long-suffering sigh and gets comfortable in an armchair before diving in. 

 

_I’m sorry it took so long to write,_ Thor says, _but I’ve been very busy arranging shipments, meeting with my father, and preparing for your visit._

 

(The thought of sending Thor a personal letter had never even occurred to Loki… Surely that hadn’t been expected of him, right?)

 

Thor goes on to detail how things have progressed since his return home, and Loki skims over it, quickly finding out that Thor is a bit of a rambler. But he does mention how long it’s taken for him to adjust back to life in Gladsheim, and that he often misses the peace and quiet of Jotunheim in the crowded city. 

 

The second page explains the gifts, though the reason for the snake brooch is fairly obvious, but Thor writes that the books include several works by Vanir poets, more recent than anything in the palace library, that he thinks Loki will enjoy, and that the historical volumes should hopefully be accurate, unbiased accounts. There are also a few books on advanced seidr techniques, recommended by his mother, the queen, he says. 

 

_I know you must have several fine capes already,_ the letter continues, _but since everything on Jotunheim is blue (or grey) and enormous, I thought you might like something black. The wolf nearly took Fandral’s leg, but we brought it down eventually. Its ferocity reminded me of you, as did the color of its fur. I imagine it will match your hair quite well._

 

Loki doesn’t know what to make of that… But it seems Thor hadn’t been so terribly busy if he’d had time for a hunt, he thinks with a scoff. 

 

The rest of the letter contains an expression of gratitude for putting up with him for so long (and only trying to slit his throat the once), a promise of good times to be had when Loki arrives on Asgard, and lastly, how excited Thor is to see him again and introduce him to his family and friends. 

 

Once he’s finished reading, Loki stays in his chair for some time, idly running his fingers through the black fur of his new cape and wondering what sort of reply is expected of him. He really should write back, that much is clear, and at least thank Thor for the gifts… and his continued efforts in aiding Jotunheim. And to say that he’s also looking forward to his trip to Asgard… maybe. 

 

In the end, his letter is far briefer and slightly more formal in tone, but he delivers it to one of the einherjar that accompanies the following shipment of goods the next week, ignoring the way they all stare at his blue skin and red eyes and small stature. (At least he’s taller than most of them.)

 

“See that this reaches the son of Odin personally,” Loki tells the guard—and then regrets it immediately when he looks at his lovely new cape and brooch of obvious Asgardian make and gives Loki a less-than-subtle wink. 

 

The indignities will never, _ever_ cease, he thinks.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next stop, Asgard! 
> 
> Everyone still doing okay? Anybody need anything?
> 
> And the usual stuff:  
> [tumblr](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/)  
> [Sweet to Thee inspo tag](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/tagged/sweet-to-thee-inspo)
> 
> See you next week! <3


	6. Winter I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki finally arrives in Asgard, just in time for Yule.

“Ready when you are, Watchman,” Loki says to the sky, feeling rather foolish, even though there’s no one here to see him standing in the middle of the courtyard in his Aesir shape and talking to himself. Laufey had insisted on dining with him the night before (and spent most of the meal suggesting ways to request the return of the Casket of Ancient Winters), but everyone else was happy to steer clear when Loki had made it known that he intended to leave Jotunheim with as little fanfare as possible, so at least if he’s gotten the time wrong, or is simply ignored by Heimdall (he still recalls the way those amber eyes had followed him and his father that first trip to Asgard), he’ll be able to keep that humiliation to himself.

 

But as soon as he speaks, the now-familiar flash of rainbow light descends around him, lifting him and his trunk (the same one that Thor had sent his gifts in) (it was nice and already had his name on it, after all) off the ground, and he’s borne away in a rush of wind and color that steals his breath, just as it had the first time. 

 

The Asgardian welcoming party is quite different today, however, and instead of a group of guards waiting to greet him, Thor is here, beaming. His hair has grown longer, but not much else has changed, and though Loki’s still not entirely confident about this trip, Thor’s already putting him at ease as he strides forward and grasps him by the shoulders the moment his feet hit the ground. 

 

“Welcome back,” he says, eyes bright. “Though yet again, I almost didn’t recognize you. I was expecting slightly more blue.”

 

Loki arches an eyebrow at him and asks primly, “I’m sorry, is this how foreign dignitaries are greeted in Asgard?”

 

Thor barks out a laugh then, but before he can say anything else, a warm voice interrupts, and Loki immediately regrets his casual tone when he sees who can only be the queen standing behind Thor. 

 

“It certainly is not,” Frigga says, and gives Thor a stern look before turning her smile on Loki. “Forgive my son’s lack of manners, though I’m sure you’re familiar with it by now. Welcome to Asgard, Loki Laufeyson. We’re honored to have you.”

 

She extends him a hand, her fingers soft and light in his, and he finds himself giving her a much deeper bow than he had planned to and saying, “The honor is mine, your grace.” 

 

Once a guard has retrieved his trunk, Thor leads the way out to the bridge and helps his mother into a waiting skiff, and Frigga excuses herself then, telling them both that she has feast preparations to see to. 

 

“I hope to speak more with you this evening,” she says to Loki. “Thor’s told me so much about you already, but I look forward to getting to know you personally.”

 

Thor ignores the questioning look that Loki gives him in favor of helping the einherjar load Loki’s trunk in as well, but Frigga just smiles at him again and continues, “And now I’m sure you two have plenty to catch up on. I’ll see you both tonight.”

 

The skiff takes off with a hum then, and Loki is left alone with his host, who gestures at a pair of saddled horses. 

 

“I thought we’d ride to the palace, just for nostalgia’s sake,” Thor says. “I know it isn’t a reindeer, but I even picked a grey horse for you, to make you feel at home.”

 

“So thoughtful,” Loki mutters, but Thor just grins back at him.

 

* * *

 

Asgard gleams like burnished gold in the fading afternoon light, and as they ride back to Gladsheim, Thor only makes a cursory attempt at pointing out notable landmarks around them before abandoning it completely in favor of asking a dozen questions instead. Loki assumes he’s just making up for lost time, and humors him while he takes in the view and occasionally looks down to watch the play of multicolored light on the bridge beneath his horse’s hooves.

 

“I was right about the cape, I see,” Thor says, changing the subject for the fifth time and looking over at him. “It does match your hair.”

 

“Yes, well, black is black.”

 

“Not necessarily. But I hope you like it, in any case.”

 

“I do. Thank you,” Loki says, and then reaches up to run his fingers over the fur where it drapes over his shoulder and across his throat. “It’s very soft.” And a bit warm, to be honest, but it’s tolerable.

 

Thor is staring when Loki turns to look at him, but then he gives him a smile and changes the subject yet again. 

 

“Have you had a chance to read the _Skirnismal_ yet?” he asks, and when Loki shakes his head, he continues, “It’s in one of those collections I sent. It made me think of you. You must let me know what you think once you read it…”

 

* * *

 

Loki’s things are waiting for him in his rooms, though his attention is immediately seized by the stately comfort of his guest suite. (Thor had pointed out a door just around the corner as his own, so he wonders if perhaps this wing is meant more for the royal family than for visitors.)

 

The front room is lined in (fully stocked) bookcases of rich, dark wood, and the floor covered in thick rugs that Loki is eager to test out with his bare feet. There’s a desk (also stocked, Thor tells him, if he needs to make any notes or send any letters), a plush sofa and armchair next to the hearth, and a tall window dressed with deep green velvet curtains, and all the wall sconces and chandeliers are gold, casting soft warm light throughout. The ceilings are low to his eyes, but then he’s used to Jotunn-sized accommodations, after all. 

 

“I hope it’s to your liking,” Thor says as he leads him through to the bedroom. “The windows face north and should catch some of the colder winds for you, and I made sure to have them dress the bed with lighter summer linens.”

 

“It should serve,” Loki says faintly, taking in the massive four-poster bed draped in a canopy of more green velvet. 

 

Thor opens another door, saying, “And then the bath is through here. Tell me if you lack for anything, of course.” 

 

They make their way back to the sitting room then, where Thor hesitates at the door a moment, eyes roaming Loki’s face before finally saying, “I want to make it clear that you’re welcome to be yourself here, Loki. You don’t have to look like us or dress like us, you know.”

 

The sentiment is heartfelt, Loki can tell, but he suspects it isn’t entirely true—at least for Asgard as a whole. Thor may be tolerant of his blue skin and red eyes, but he doubts the rest of his realm will be so accepting. “I’m always myself,” he says, smiling to put Thor at ease. “And anyway, Aesir are built for this climate. I’m much more comfortable in this shape, believe me.”

 

Nodding, Thor says, “As long as you’re comfortable. We have some time before we’re expected at the feast, so I’ll leave you to get settled in.” 

 

With that, Thor lets himself out, and Loki takes another look around the room, wondering where to start first.

 

* * *

 

Shouted songs and the clatter of dishes echo throughout Gladsheim’s largest dining hall, where dozens of tables are lined with Asgardians making merry in honor of the first night of Yule. Loki is passingly familiar with the festival, though it isn’t observed on Jotunheim, and he wonders if the people will manage to keep up this level of ruckus for all twelve nights.

 

He isn’t expected to participate in all the revels, Thor had told him, but tonight the queen has honored him with a place at the high table, where she and Odin preside over the festivities. Seated next to Frigga, the two of them have pleasantly chatted their way through several courses of rich and varied dishes (the platter piled high with roasted lamb shanks that had been placed in front of him was noticeably bloodier than the rest, leading Loki to assume Thor had had a word with the kitchen staff ahead of time), and by the time the servants appear with dessert, Loki is quite convinced that Frigga is entirely too sweet and warm and kind to be either the Allfather’s wife or Thor’s mother. 

 

(However, the way that Thor keeps giving him those small smiles all throughout dinner, content to listen to the conversation instead of being his usual talkative self, is beginning to change his mind about which parent he may take after more.)

 

Just after the last course is set on the table, the Allfather rises and excuses himself, having said hardly anything at all during the meal, and nothing to Loki, which he can’t say he minds. There’s a brief lull in the noise all throughout the hall as he leaves, and once the songs resume, Loki realizes that he’s given the queen all of his attention and neglected the other two women at the table. 

 

Eir, the head healer, is on the council that will decide the next steps in Jotunheim’s reentry into inter-realm relations, so he decides to try her first. (Though the inexplicable glares Sif has been sending his way since they were introduced may have also played a part in this choice… here he’d thought that she and Thor were supposed to be the best of friends.)

 

“I’d like to thank you for the healing stones, Lady Eir,” he says to her. “They’ve been invaluable on Jotunheim.”

 

“That’s interesting to hear,” she replies. “I wasn’t convinced they would work, what with frost giants being so different physiologically, but then Thor insisted.” 

 

The tone of her voice is just short of disdainful, and Thor notices immediately, his brow furrowing as he looks up at Loki as though he means to say something. Knowing Thor, it’s probably best to keep that from happening, so Loki quickly says, “Our similarities may surprise you. But the healers are managing just fine.”

 

Eir doesn’t sound convinced as she says, “Are they? Well, that’s something. But then, there’s only so much one can do without a soul forge.”

 

“Perhaps Asgard will be so kind as to send one of those next, then,” Loki says pleasantly, and Eir returns to her dessert without responding.

 

* * *

 

The tense silence hadn’t lasted long, thanks to Frigga’s gift for conversation, and once dinner itself had concluded, Thor had told Loki that it was traditional to hold a vigil until the sun rose once again after the solstice, but he was more than welcome to return to his rooms if he wished. Considering his newfound taste for sweet things (including the mead), Loki decides that retiring early before he makes himself ill (or before the mead loosens his tongue) is for the best.

 

“I apologize for Eir’s behavior,” Thor says as they walk side by side down the corridor. “I’m beginning to see that it may take some time to change Asgardian opinions of Jotunheim, but I had hoped you wouldn’t be subjected to such disrespect so soon. A council member should be better-mannered.”

 

“I expected as much,” Loki says with a shrug. “But it will take time, as you said.”

 

“Not too much, I hope.”

 

Loki hopes the same, but doesn’t share Thor’s optimism. “Speaking of the council,” he says, “when am I going to be subjected to their scrutiny?”

 

“We have the rest of Yule to do as we please, since most official business is put on hold during the festival. But I believe the first meeting is scheduled as soon as it’s over.”

 

“And the remaining four weeks of my visit?”

 

Thor puts on a mock-serious expression and says, “Well, there will be at least _two_ meetings. It’s a very rigorous itinerary I’ve put together.”

 

“Oh, I see.”

 

“I will have to devote at least one day each week to my duties, if not more,” Thor says, “but I’m confident you’ll find some way to entertain yourself in my absence. Otherwise, I’ve tried to leave the rest of the schedule open for cultural consumption and education.”

 

“Or more plainly put, you expect to have fun and accomplish the bare minimum while I’m here,” Loki says, and Thor grins at him.

 

“Cultural consumption,” he insists.

 

They arrive at Loki’s door sooner than he expected, and before he goes in, Thor stops him with a hand at his elbow. 

 

“I am truly glad to have you here,” he says, entirely sincere, and leaves Loki feeling a little off-balance. All the fondness he’s exhibited since their scuffle in the snow back on Jotunheim has been easy enough to dismiss as Thor simply being his overconfident, unnecessarily familiar self, but something about his manner since Loki arrived this afternoon has been different. But then Thor adds, “I’ve missed our talks and your sharp tongue,” and claps him on the shoulder, and the feeling passes. 

 

“I should return to the hall,” Thor says before he can reply, and lets him go. “My friends are expecting me to join them for the vigil. But I’ll try not to overdo it, since morning will likely come all too early. I’ll see you then.” 

 

Loki watches him go, staring after him a moment even once he’s turned a corner, and then shakes his head and opens the door to his room.

 

* * *

 

In the morning, Loki’s back is sore from the softness of the bed, but he takes his time getting out of it anyway, reluctant to leave the silky-smooth sheets behind. The bath is entirely too hot, but a quick layer of ice over the top cools it to a comfortable temperature, and by the time he’s dry and dressed, a servant arrives with his breakfast as if on cue.

 

He’s hardly finished eating when there’s another knock at the door, but instead of Thor, it’s the queen’s tailor and her assistant, here to fit him after he’d asked after having some more Asgardian-style clothing made at dinner the night before, since anything but leather has always been scarce at home. (He had also asked whether Jotunn gold would be accepted, but Frigga had insisted on seeing to it herself.) He certainly hadn’t expected them so soon, especially during Yule, but the tailor is quick and professional, inquiring after his preferences and taking his measurements. Her assistant, an adolescent boy, is less so, and stares at Loki doubtfully the entire time. 

 

Thor arrives just as the tailor is leaving (she says that Loki can expect the first of his garments delivered in time for the council meeting), and judging by the redness of his eyes and the exhausted look on his face, he _did_ , in fact, overdo it once he’d returned to the feast. 

 

“Long night?” Loki asks, and Thor gives him pitiful look.

 

“Let’s not speak of it,” he says.

 

Their tour of the palace begins with a long walk through their corridor, down a set of stairs, and then several more winding turns and one last broad staircase, but when they reach the central courtyard Loki had seen from his window above, with a wide pool and bubbling fountain in the center, Thor takes one step out into the sunlight and groans. 

 

“Ymir’s bollocks,” he swears, and Loki only just keeps from choking on his laughter. “It’s too bright. Perhaps we should stay indoors today. How does that sound?”

 

“Fine,” Loki replies, clearing his throat. “That’s fine. But will my tour guide be hungover every day of Yule, or will I actually get to leave the palace anytime soon?”

 

“Hush.”

 

It’s not only Thor, Loki notices as they turn and head back inside. Most of the staff they pass are also bleary-eyed and moving slowly, and he doesn’t regret his decision to turn in early one bit. For one thing, it’s given him a prime opportunity to have a little fun at his host’s expense, he realizes.

 

“Thor, tell me,” he says, “is that a common curse on Asgard?”

 

Thor blinks at him, and says, “What? Oh, Ymir’s… Not in front of my mother. But yes, I suppose. Do you swear by Ymir as well?”

 

“Oh, frequently.”

 

“Then why do you ask?”

 

Loki grins and says, “Well… Ymir was Jotunn, after all.”

 

It takes several moments in Thor’s slightly incapacitated state, but he understands eventually. 

 

“I don’t—oh for the love of—,” he groans, and bumps his shoulder into Loki’s frustratedly. “You said I wasn’t allowed to bring that up, so why do you get to?”

 

“Technically, you did bring it up,” Loki says, laughing. “Perhaps you could use ‘Ymir’s internal testes’ instead.”

 

Thor snorts and cuffs him again, and neither of them take any notice of the guards they pass staring after them curiously.

 

* * *

 

The palace is vast, and Thor says that even though most of it won’t hold anything of interest to Loki, he’s free to roam as he pleases (aside from personal quarters, the vaults, and the throne room when Odin is holding court, of course). They start on the same level as the courtyard, which is still high above the city streets outside, but contains the throne room and council chambers, both empty but grand and golden. As they leisurely approach Hlidskjalf, Odin’s high seat, Loki notices that there are einherjar posted at each column, even though their king is elsewhere, but he ignores their eyes upon him and glances back up at the murals on the ceiling, once again taking in the painted depiction of their fathers, but noticing this time that Thor is shown in several of the other scenes himself. 

 

“So someday that will be all yours,” he says casually to Thor, nodding his head toward the throne, and Thor sighs as he looks upon it himself. 

 

“Someday.”

 

“You don’t seem very enthusiastic about the prospect.”

 

“I used to be,” Thor admits. “But now I’m beginning to see what a difficult time lies ahead of me, and how ignorant I’ve been of Asgard’s role in the cosmos.” 

 

But he’s learning, Loki thinks, knowing quite well how much Thor has changed since they first met. “At least you’ll have me around,” he says, and Thor turns to look at him. “To help with Jotunn relations… though you seem to be doing well enough on your own there.”

 

“Oh, I’ll certainly need the help,” Thor says with a laugh. “Perhaps I’ll make you my advisor. I’ll have to speak with Laufey about stealing you…”

 

“He’d probably pay you to take me off his hands, honestly.”

 

“Even better. Though I’m sure I should pay him instead.”

 

Once they leave the throne room, Thor takes them up to one of the highest towers, where the whole of the city is laid out before them. The wind is refreshingly cold out on the balcony, and though Thor doesn’t complain about it, his cheeks and nose and ears turn red while he points out the markets and gardens and the mountains beyond (promising to take Loki to see them up close at some point). 

 

Several galleries take up the rest of the morning and part of the early afternoon, Loki examining hundreds of tapestries, paintings, reliefs, and sculptures while Thor patiently watches him do so, and once he’s looked his fill, the two of them head down to the kitchens. Thor steals their lunch while the cook is otherwise occupied, wrapping up a few loaves of bread, a wedge of cheese, and an entire roasted bird of some variety in a towel, but is caught on his way out and scolded like a child while Loki waits in the corridor, trying to keep a straight face. Of course, being the crown prince, Thor is allowed to leave with his spoils, but is warned to _ask_ next time before he just takes whatever he likes. 

 

“I have one more tapestry to show you,” Thor says when they’ve finished their meal (shared on a bench in an alcove just outside the kitchen), and leads Loki several levels down to a long, narrow corridor that must be below ground, judging by the exposed stone walls and lack of windows. 

 

Loki sees wine cellars and storage rooms through the occasional open door, and wonders what in the Nine could be so interesting but kept down here where few can appreciate it. But Thor stops ahead of him soon enough. 

 

“You’ll have to tell Egdir,” he says excitedly. “But leave out the part about it being so far out of the way. I just found it a few weeks ago, and I’ve asked to have it moved up to one of the higher galleries.”

 

‘It’ turns out to be a hanging depicting glimpses from the lives of Borr and Bestla, Thor’s paternal grandparents—noteworthy, Loki sees immediately, thanks to the fact that Bestla is shown in Jotunn form, full-size, blue-skinned, and bare-chested, in the scene that portrays their first meeting on Jotunheim. Loki is surprised that it exists in the first place, but even more surprised that Thor is so eager to have it relocated to a more prominent home. 

 

“I’m sure he’ll be delighted,” Loki says, smiling at the difference in height between Thor’s grandparents. 

 

As they continue down the corridor, making for the stairs at the opposite end, they pass a set of tall, heavily carved doors flanked by more einherjar on either side. The guards nod to Thor respectfully, but neither one turns their head or moves otherwise as they go by. 

 

“May I ask what’s behind those doors?” Loki says quietly, once they’re out of earshot, but Thor hesitates in answering.

 

“You may,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “They open on a staircase that leads down to the weapons vault.”

 

After a moment, Loki understands, and it takes all his willpower not to turn and look back at the place where the Casket of Ancient Winters is kept. “Of course,” he says as evenly as he can. Thor seems to comprehend something of what he feels, and he says nothing else until they’re back in the sunlit corridors of the wing opposite their rooms. 

 

It’s then that he finally speaks up, drawing Loki from his thoughts, and says, “I’ve saved the best part for last,” with a small smile. 

 

They’ve stopped outside another set of double doors, also richly embellished, but these are only closed to keep out the cold, and Thor gestures for Loki to open them himself. So he does, pausing to give Thor a curious look first before he takes a glance inside. 

 

“Ymir’s tits!” he exclaims.

 

He doesn’t care that Thor has dissolved into a fit of coughing and strained giggles behind him, and walks into the library fully to get a better look.

 

It’s easily the size of the throne room and just as tall, with smaller nooks branching off on either side, and the shelves reach all the way up to the ceiling. Loki has thought about what Asgard’s libraries might look like, but this doesn’t compare to anything he’s imagined, and when Thor steps up next to him and says, “What do you think?” he has to latch onto his arm for support. 

 

“‘Best for last,’” Loki repeats weakly.

 

With a pat on the shoulder, and a broad grin, Thor says, “I did tell you I was sure you’d find some way to entertain yourself.”

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So Thor gets a little update from Ye Olde 2011 look here. However you’ve been imagining him, I will remind you that the nerd has not yet begun to tie his hair back a la TDW and AoU, so whether or not you choose to see Avengers era Thor in your own head, that’s what I got going on in mine :D
> 
> Coming up next time: Yule pt. 2, more of Asgard, a little too much mead, and--oh look--more gifts.
> 
> Here's this:  
> [tumblr](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/)  
> [Sweet to Thee Inspo tag](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/tagged/sweet-to-thee-inspo) \- which has got some teasers coming up in the queue, btw.
> 
> And if you haven't already, can I interest you in subscribing? :D


	7. Winter II

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yule continues, Loki finally gets out of the palace, and conversations are had. Yule part 2!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now beta-ed by the incomparable [ravenbringslight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenbringslight/works) <333

He doesn’t mean for it to happen, but somehow the next two days fly by with Loki only leaving the library to sleep, and then only very late, once the rest of the palace has grown still and quiet. Thor checks in on him frequently, bringing him food and distraction, but he never stays for long, and he always reminds Loki that he’s welcome to spend as much time here as he likes. 

 

On the third evening, however, Thor turns up without dinner for once, and he asks if Loki will accompany him back to his rooms instead… which Loki reluctantly agrees to, realizing how unsociable he’s been. 

 

“Would you like to actually leave the palace anytime in the next five weeks?” Thor asks him once they’ve sat down to eat. His quarters are larger than Loki’s but are furnished in a similar fashion, aside from the hunting trophies on the walls, and his preference for red is evident here as well; his drapes and upholstered furniture are done in various shades, including the dark burgundy of his bedding, which Loki can see through a half-open door. There’s a familiar-looking Jotunn sealskin tossed over the foot of Thor’s bed as well, and the sight of it brings a smile to Loki’s face. 

 

“I suppose I should,” he replies then with a false, put-upon sigh. “Do you have anything in mind?”

 

“Well, since you started us off with the market in Utgard, I thought we might do the same here. How does tomorrow morning sound?”

 

* * *

 

After five minutes in the market, Loki finds that he doesn’t miss the library quite so badly anymore. It’s busy and crowded, largely due to the Yule season, but he’s sure that even the slowest day would seem like a chaotic mess compared to Utgard. 

 

There are goods on offer from all over the Nine Realms (aside from Jotunheim—for now), and half of what he sees he can’t even put a name to. There’s clothing and jewelry, weaponry and armor, more varieties of food than Loki’s ever seen, and no fewer than ten stalls in a row all selling a wide assortment of spices, piled high in bins and threatening to make him sneeze. 

 

They’d eaten breakfast at the palace before venturing out, but the smell of a baker’s shop lures Loki in anyway, and he and Thor leave with apple and pear pastries spiced with cinnamon that leave flaky crumbs all down their fronts and in Thor’s beard. 

 

(Whatever comes of this new arrangement between Jotunheim and Asgard, Loki sincerely hopes that a brave Asgardian baker will someday set up shop in Utgard and keep him stocked with sweet things, at the very least.) 

 

Despite the vast array of merchandise, Loki’s heartened to see that there could still be demand for Jotunn goods. The cold weather gear that most of the outfitters have on display looks to be of inferior quality compared to what his people could produce, so there would at least be that obvious niche in the market for them to thrive in. And from what he’s observed, Asgardians are eager to try all manner of foreign things, so once trade resumes, he hopes their interest will keep the Jotunn merchants busy and well-fed. 

 

Early in the afternoon, after Thor’s grumbling stomach has been appeased with a quick lunch from a street vendor, the two of them round a corner—and are suddenly beset on all sides by a throng of shouting children, several of them immediately climbing Thor like a tree. Loki is taken aback, but Thor just laughs and dangles one of the smaller ones high above the ground by the ankles, the little thing giggling like mad the whole time. 

 

“Oh, for Norns’ sake,” says a redheaded woman as she catches up with them. “I’m so sorry, Thor. You know how they are at Yule. All the sugar goes to their heads.”

 

“Not to worry,” he says, peeling them off one by one while he turns to Loki. “This is Gunnhilde, my dear friend Volstagg’s wife, and their children.”

 

Gunnhilde makes a little curtsy then, and scoops up a toddler threatening to make a run for it. 

 

“And, Gunnhilde, this is Loki Laufeyson of Jotunheim.”

 

While Loki gives her his best charming smile, she gasps, “Oh! This is him!” But whatever else she means to say is drowned out by a chorus of questions from the children, one of them grabbing ahold of Loki’s hand with sticky fingers and tugging on it. 

 

“Why aren’t you big?” he hears first, and, “You don’t _look_ like a monster,” and, “Do you eat Asgardians?” follow, but then an older girl with red braids rolls her eyes and asks, “Do frost giants have annoying siblings, too?”

 

“Oh, yes,” he tells her, “though mine are older and much, much larger.” 

 

“Now now, Gudrun, that’s no way to talk about your brothers and sisters,” Gunnhilde scolds, but Gudrun just gives him a little grin. “The rest of you lot, stop making nuisances of yourselves and let Thor and his friend be on their way.”

 

With a monumental effort, Gunnhilde manages to gather up her brood and set them all in the same direction, but before they go, she calls back, “Don’t forget about the tavern tonight! And bring him along!”

 

Thor sends her off with a wave, and when he turns and keeps walking without elaborating, Loki speaks up. 

 

“The tavern?” he asks, and Thor gives him a shrug. 

 

“Yule festivities, you know… We don’t have to go.”

 

“I’m here to learn, am I not?” Loki says, and then adds, “Cultural consumption.”

 

With a smile, Thor says, “Perhaps for a little while then.”

 

* * *

 

They return to the palace for a rest after they’ve finished at the market, and only when Thor knocks at Loki’s door does he realize that he’s fallen asleep, sprawled over the sofa with one of Frigga’s recommended texts on seidr open on his chest. But Thor waits patiently in the sitting room while he re-dresses (Loki tolerates Asgardian fashion well enough in public, but he’ll be damned if he has to wear a tunic in the privacy of his own rooms) and sorts out the mess his hair has turned into while he slept. Once his little snake brooch is on his shoulder and holding his cape in place, the two of them head back out into the city.

 

The tavern is already half-full by the time they arrive, and Thor leaves Loki to find them a table while he heads to the bar, promising to return with mead and their supper. Loki sees an empty space along the back wall that should both keep him out of the way and afford him a decent view to observe the merrymaking, but he doesn’t have it to himself for long after he sits down. 

 

“Hello again,” he says to the little redhead as she climbs up onto the bench next to him. “Gudrun, was it?”

 

“Aye. And you’re Loki.”

 

“Loki Laufeyson, prince of Jotunheim and ambassador to Odin Allfather, if you want to be specific.”

 

Gudrun isn’t impressed, and she waves this statement off in a casual way that has Loki grinning down at her. 

 

“How much larger?” she asks, getting straight to her point. “Your siblings?”

 

“Oh. Well, Byleistr is sixteen feet tall, give or take. Helblindi is even bigger, and quite disagreeable.”

 

That does leave her gaping, and she leans in a little closer and asks quietly, “So you really are a frost giant?”

 

“I am.”

 

“Why do you look like us? Like an Aesir?”

 

“It’s simpler, don’t you think?” he says, but Gudrun shakes her head, braids swinging over her shoulders. 

 

“I mean _how_ do you look like us?”

 

“Ah. That’s a different question, then. Have you ever met a shapeshifter?”

 

When she shakes her head again, Loki grins a little wider and says, “Well, now you have.”

 

It takes her a moment to understand, but her eyes light up when she does, and for a little while, they sit in companionable silence while Loki looks around the room, taking in the fire roaring in the hearth on the opposite wall, and the evergreen garlands strung over every window and door and draped from the rafters overhead. Gudrun’s family are a few tables over, getting settled, and just when Loki starts to think he might need to walk her back to them before they miss her, she speaks up again. 

 

“Does it snow all year in Jotunheim?”

 

“In some places, yes,” he answers. 

 

“Do you like snow?”

 

Loki shrugs his shoulders, saying, “It keeps us cool, so I suppose so. Do you?”

 

“I like summer best,” Gudrun says, “but Yule is better with snow. It isn’t supposed to snow this year, though.”

 

He ponders this a moment, and the sad look on her face, then glances around. No one’s paying them any mind—neither her family nor Thor still waiting at the bar—so he turns back to her and holds out his hand, palm up. 

 

It’s dry in the room with the fire going and the winter chill, but there are enough people talking and breathing inside to draw a little moisture from the air and freeze it, and then Gudrun lets out a delighted gasp when the snowflakes start drifting down into her hair and landing on her eyelashes and nose. 

 

“How’d you do it?” she asks, sweeping them all into a little pile on the table. 

 

“I’m a frost giant,” Loki says. “It’s in the name, after all.”

 

“Gudrun!” her mother suddenly calls from across the room, and she jumps to her feet instantly. 

 

“I have to go,” she says, starting back toward her family, but then she pauses to add, “Thank you for the snow,” and runs off. 

 

Loki watches her go, smiling after her and wishing it could be so simple to charm the rest of Asgard—but then he catches sight of Thor absolutely beaming at him from the bar, having seen his little demonstration after all, and he lets out a sigh. 

 

Two Asgardians down, he thinks.

  

* * *

 

Several hours and several more glasses of mead later, Loki thinks the chilly night air is one of the best things he’s ever felt. 

 

The robust man at Gudrun’s table had turned out to be her father and Thor’s friend Volstagg, and after he’d eaten with his family, he had made his way over to Loki and Thor’s table with a pitcher of mead and half a roast boar, introducing himself and proceeding to regale Loki with stories of both Thor’s greatest feats and most embarrassing missteps. Not long after he had arrived, the Lady Sif had turned up, followed shortly by a Vanir called Hogun who said even less than Sif, but after a little while (and a little drink) both of them were at least smiling and making small contributions to Volstagg’s tales. 

 

As they’d stood to finally leave, Thor had said that he was only thankful that Fandral hadn’t been there to harass him as well. And so naturally at that moment, the man in question had appeared (fashionably late, he’d said), but when he had given Loki what could only be a very suggestive once-over and said, “You know, I’ve heard rather _interesting_ things about frost giants,” Thor had let out an overly-cheery, false laugh and made their farewells, leading Loki out by the elbow. 

 

(It wasn’t the first time Loki had been looked at that way, but it _was_ the first time that the looker had been of a size with him, and he’s still trying to come to terms with the idea of not being stuck on Jotunheim and remaining celibate the rest of his days. It’s a strange feeling… freeing, but slightly terrifying at the same time. But he’s still got a job to do, so for now, he sets that aside, knowing that his hand will continue to suffice for the time being.)

 

Now that they’re alone in the streets, and Loki’s cooled down, he’s feeling loose and sleepy and altogether pleasant. There are lights burning in most of the windows around them, the sounds of song and laughter drifting out of homes and taverns that they pass. Though he can recall very few nights this cheerful and bright in Utgard over the centuries, he’s hopeful that, in time, Jotunheim may return to some of its old glory and light. The fact that Thor seems to want that as well, nearly as much as Loki does, is incredibly reassuring, and with his influence, it may not be so far out of reach. 

 

The palace looms before them as they turn a corner, and Loki finds himself looking up at it almost fondly, thinking of the library and his too-soft bed and Thor’s frequent smiles within. Depending on how this new inter-realm relationship develops, he could be spending quite a lot of time here in the years to come, and thinking back on his first visit, he’s surprised at how quickly he’s grown accustomed to the idea… and he wonders how different it might have been if Odin had chosen another emissary, if Thor had never come to Jotunheim. 

 

Loki is ready to doze off on his feet by the time they reach his door, and he can’t even be bothered to roll his eyes when Thor goes for his usual shoulder-squeeze and misses entirely, cupping his cheek instead. They both must have had more mead than he’d realized, since Thor doesn’t seem to notice and leaves his hand where it is. After giving Loki a fond smile, he lets him go, and says, “Goodnight,” before heading off toward his own rooms. 

 

Even after Loki has undressed, haphazardly braided his hair, and crawled into bed, he can still feel the warmth of Thor’s hand on his face. 

 

But that’s probably just the mead, he thinks, and goes to sleep.

 

* * *

 

Yule continues for another six days, and they pass by in a haze of eating and drinking and reading and lazing about. Loki’s beginning to think that he should make a point to visit Asgard every year at this time, but then he’s also concerned that his new clothes won’t fit him by the time they arrive, thanks to this rich new diet.

 

The tailor turns up bright and early on the last day of Yule, and thankfully, his three new pairs of trousers fit just fine, along with all the rest of it. He’d requested lighter, more breathable fabrics, and though there’s still a fair amount of leather involved, thanks to current fashions, it’s softer and thinner than what he’s gotten on Jotunheim, and he feels far less stifled once he’s dressed and the tailor approves the finished product. 

 

He spends the rest of his morning wandering galleries, focusing mostly on pieces from or depicting the other seven realms this time, and thinking of the future, when he might be able to visit them in person and see it all for himself. There’s a tapestry that catches his eye just down the hall from the throne room, and he’s stopped to admire it when Frigga appears beside him.

 

“Vanaheim,” she says, gesturing toward the landscape shown in shimmering threads, “and the village where I lived as a child.”

 

“It’s beautiful work,” Loki tells her. “Yours?”

 

“Indeed.” 

 

The queen looks at him a moment, but Loki feels none of the scrutiny of her husband’s gaze. Frigga has only ever been warm and kind to him so far, and so when she asks, “Would you speak with me, Loki?” he’s happy to offer his arm and be led down the corridor to a carefully kept terrace garden. 

 

There are no flowers in bloom, thanks to the season, but there are plenty of evergreen shrubs and bright berries and sparrows flitting between branches, and though it’s the only garden Loki has ever seen in person, he can picture how colorful it must be in the summer. 

 

“I want to thank you,” Frigga says, surprising him as they sit together on a stone bench under an arbor. And seeing his confusion, she adds, “For looking after Thor and being so kind. He’s said over and over how patient you were with him.”

 

‘Kind’ is not at all a word that Loki would use to describe himself, nor ‘patient,’ and some of his disbelief must show on his face, since Frigga looks at him questioningly. 

 

“Thor deserves the praise, your grace,” he tells her even as he realizes it himself. “I’ve been rather harsh with him.”

 

But Frigga just shakes her head gently and says, “Sometimes we need sharp lessons. Especially those of us who are so hard-headed. But you’ve been good for him, Loki, and I am nothing but grateful for that.”

 

They spend the next hour talking on their little bench, and then another inside Frigga’s solar after the wind picks up. The conversation ranges from what Loki thinks of Gladsheim, and Frigga’s current project on her loom, to his new clothes (and how fetching he looks in them, she notes), and all matters seidr-related, but all throughout, Loki keeps thinking back to what she’d said. 

 

And now, he’s starting to think that perhaps Thor has been good for him as well.

 

* * *

  

The palace is a flurry of activity in preparation for the final night of Yule by the time Loki returns to his rooms that evening, intending to stay out of the way while he goes through his notes in anticipation of his first audience with the Asgardian council tomorrow.

 

He’s hardly shut his door, however, when there’s a knock upon it, and he opens it to find Thor on the other side, looking pleased with himself and hiding something in the folds his cape. 

 

“May I come in?” he asks, and Loki makes a special effort to look put-out by the request and waves him inside. He doesn’t get an opportunity to inquire after whatever it is Thor has smuggled in, however, since Thor starts talking the moment Loki shuts the door behind him. 

 

“As you must have heard,” he says, “one of our Yule traditions is the giving of gifts.”

 

“Yes, exchanged between friends and loved ones, or so I’ve read,” Loki replies. 

 

Thor blinks at him a moment, then continues, “Exactly. And I wanted to get you something—no, don’t look at me like that—but I didn’t want you to feel obligated to reciprocate, so it’s a poor gift, I confess.”

 

His offering turns out to be a dozen small pastries, still warm from the oven and hastily wrapped in a napkin. Stolen from the kitchens, no doubt, but the smell of them is enough to make up for their slightly battered state, and Loki accepts them graciously. 

 

“Well, it’s too late,” he says, setting the bundle down and turning back to Thor. “I already feel obligated, so you’ll have to accept a poor gift from me as well.”

 

He’s given a bemused look when he steps into Thor’s space and tells him to hold out his hands, but Thor complies, and Loki covers them with his own while he begins to call up the ice. 

 

“It wasn’t a poor gift,” Loki says hesitantly, looking down at their hands. “I appreciate it very much, along with the other gifts you sent, and everything you’ve done for Jotunheim as well.”

 

“Oh, that’s—”

 

Loki pinches one of his fingers, and gives him a warning look. “I haven’t finished,” he says. “I realize that I’m not the easiest person to get along with, but you’ve been patient with me and my temper, and willing to learn, so thank you for that. … And for stealing food from the kitchens for me and putting yourself at great personal risk, I suppose.”

 

Thor laughs, and Loki can’t help but give him a smile in return. 

 

“Now, this is a truly terrible gift, but it will never melt, so you’ll just have to be burdened with it forever.”

 

There’s a miniature reindeer in Thor’s hands when Loki removes his own, the ice shining like crystal, and at first, Thor just stares at it, saying nothing—but then he snorts and is unable to speak for laughing for several long moments. 

 

“I’ll cherish it always,” he finally manages to get out, and Loki rolls his eyes and returns to his pastries (before they get cold). 

 

“As well you should,” he grumbles. “That charm of permanence was tricky.”

 

“I don’t doubt it. But there is one other thing you might give me, since you said yourself this was terrible…”

 

Loki's glare has no effect, other than to prompt a sly sort of look from Thor, so he gives in and asks, “What might that be?”

 

“Come to this last feast with me?”

 

He had planned on doing so already, but if Thor wants to consider that a gift, then Loki won’t stop him. 

 

“If I must,” he sighs.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look I did say "slow burn." It's in the tags. Lol.
> 
> That said, the next chapter may or may not contain a little movement... eyes emoji
> 
> In the meantime, have some links:  
> \- [tumblr](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/)  
> \- [Sweet to Thee Inspo Tag](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/tagged/sweet-to-thee-inspo)  
> \- [Pillowfort!](https://pillowfort.io/wouldyouknowmore) (not much here yet, but we're getting there)


	8. Winter III

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Yule has ended, the boys get down to business, and Loki... starts noticing things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-ed by [ravenbringslight](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ravenbringslight/works) <33
> 
> Also, **oh boy**

Asgard returns to business as usual the day after Yule has ended, and Loki is collected for his first council meeting bright and early. 

 

Everything goes downhill from there.

 

“Jotunheim is a frozen rock. I cannot see why you would have any need for farming equipment.”

 

Loki maintains his pleasant, diplomatic expression, as he has for the last three hours, and laces his fingers together on the table in front of him to keep them still. This meeting began not as a discussion, but as a hearing, and has since moved on to interrogation. Even the seating arrangement had been hostile at the onset, with the council members lined up along one side of the table, and a single chair meant for Loki on the other. 

 

Of course, Thor had responded by marching his own chair over and setting it down next to his, glaring at his father’s representatives all the while as though daring them to say a word against it. 

 

“Oh, I don’t have any need for farming equipment personally, I assure you,” Loki says, smiling, and one of his questioners, an elderly nobleman with a bushy grey beard named Varr, snorts in amusement. “However there _are_ areas along the equator that can support hardier crops, and if Jotunheim can grow some of its own, we will remain less dependent on Asgard’s generosity, and will avoid depleting your stores any further.”

 

“I though frost giants ate raw meat exclusively,” Erling says with a derisive huff. He’s supposed to be the expert in all matters agricultural here, but it seems as though he hasn’t bothered to do any research at all. 

 

“Our herds need food as well. But you’d be surprised what a Jotunn can subsist on. Our environment is not kind to us, so we take our nourishment wherever we can find it.”

 

If Erling takes the flash of his teeth along with this statement as slightly threatening, well, Loki can’t be held responsible for that. _He_ didn’t start the rumor about Jotnar eating Aesir babes straight from of their cribs, after all. 

 

(Helblindi insists that he’d consumed an Asgardian heart during battle, ripped from the chest of his opponent, but Loki doesn’t put much stock in the tale, seeing as his eldest brother couldn’t have been more than ten feet tall when the war had ended.)

 

After a moment of tense silence passes, during which Loki ignores Thor’s defensive glowering on his behalf, Eir clears her throat and says, “If you have no further requests…”

 

“Just one more,” Loki says, before anyone can stand. He has several more actually, but despite his father’s insistence, he will not be bringing up the Casket of Ancient Winters today, not after they’d objected to nearly every other thing he had mentioned, benign or not, and the trade-related matters will have to wait while Nefr, Odin’s trade minister, is off world for another week. 

 

“Yes?”

 

Mustering all the charm he possesses, Loki gives her his sweetest smile and says, “I believe you mentioned a soul forge when we first met.”

 

* * *

 

It’s been a week since the first meeting, and so far, the only difference that Loki has noticed between Gladsheim at Yule and Gladsheim _after_ Yule is that Thor seems busier than ever, constantly attending to the Allfather’s needs. For once, Loki is quite content with his place in the line of succession, and Jotunheim’s much slower pace. His own father hasn’t even written back to him in response to his summary of the audience with the council, though Laufey’s silence could either be a good thing or a bad thing. He’s sure to note Loki’s omission of the Casket during the proceedings, but Loki can’t do anything about that at the moment. At least on Asgard, he’s safe from his father’s wrath (for another three weeks, that is).

 

Late in the afternoon, Thor drops in on him for the first time in days, so Loki accepts his invitation to go out to the training yards, where the einherjar have resumed their drills after the festival. 

 

“I thought you might like to see how Asgardians fight,” Thor tells him as they make their way outside. 

 

“Oh, I’ve seen it,” Loki replies, recalling Thor beneath him in the snow, glaring as he surrendered. “I wasn’t impressed.”

 

He forgives Thor the retaliatory shove almost immediately. 

 

It’s grown steadily colder since Loki arrived, and each soldier’s breath is visible as they spar with blunted blades, and the sound of metal clashing and their shouts and grunts of exertion fill the air. A few of them turn and gawk as he and Thor cross the yard, no doubt having heard who and what he is, but unlike Thor, who reprimands those he sees staring for their lack of focus, Loki ignores them… until he spots the very same guard who had taken his letter for Thor back in Utgard. The one who had _winked_ at him. 

 

With growing dread, Loki wonders if there isn’t _another_ reason why they’re all staring. 

 

There’s no telling how many of his shield brothers the bastard may have told of his (unfounded) suspicions about the nature of his prince and the Jotunn ambassador’s relationship, and Loki is suddenly all too conscious of how closely Thor is walking beside him, their shoulders bumping occasionally. 

 

(He counts it as a personal victory, poetic justice even, when the guard in question is knocked flat by his opponent.)

 

But as they pass a row of bowmen at target practice, Loki finds himself thinking that, then again, there are probably worse things that could be said of him. If he were in his usual shape right now, for instance, he can only imagine how those curious looks would turn hostile. 

 

“I never noticed anyone with a bow in Jotunheim,” Thor says then, and Loki gives him a shrug, still mostly lost in thought. 

 

“They’re unnecessary when the entire population can fling a shard of ice and accomplish the same thing,” he says, and then he realizes that Thor had said ‘anyone.’ Not ‘any Jotunn’ or ‘any frost giant,’ and he’s reminded how differently Thor sees him and his people compared to the rest of Asgard. 

 

… And really and truly, he realizes, the rumors—if there are any—could do him a far greater disservice than to pair him off with Thor. Especially compared to anyone else in the realm. 

 

“Would you like to learn to use one?”

 

Thor is staring at him, gesturing toward the archers, eyes bright as he waits for an answer. And it’s another sign of how much things have changed that Loki can’t bring himself to disappoint him. 

 

“Why not,” he says, sighing.

 

The range master protests the moment Thor selects a bow for him, criticizing his prince’s technique and insisting that Loki would be better off with another instructor (“Learn to shoot like you throw that hammer, and then we’ll talk,” he tells Thor). But Thor just waves him off, smiling and saying, “Quiet, old man,” so he walks away grumbling, but with a fond look on his face. 

 

It’s clear that Asgard loves Thor, and Loki can concede that it isn’t without reason after having seen him interact with its people over the last three weeks. Even with Loki himself, Thor’s been nothing but kind and thoughtful ever since they’d worked out their differences back on Jotunheim, sending him gifts, asking his opinion on anything and everything, bringing him food, giving him free reign of the library… 

 

And, for an Aesir, he isn’t entirely unattractive, Loki notices for the first time… if one is into that sort of thing. The contrast between his dark lashes and blue eyes is rather striking, after all, and his hands are strong but surprisingly gentle as he slips a leather guard onto Loki’s left forearm and fastens the straps. 

 

“Ready?” Thor asks him. 

 

Loki blinks.

 

Thor waits. 

 

“… Right,” Loki says, after a moment.

 

He’s positioned in front of a target, and if he were thinking a little more clearly, he might be offended that it’s so close. But Thor is behind him, nudging his feet apart with the toe of his boot, and then he’s helping Loki nock an arrow, lifting his bow arm and adjusting his grip, softly telling him to let it move in his hand as it pleases once he lets the arrow fly. Loki draws the string back without really understanding how it’s supposed to be done, too distracted by Thor’s breath, warm on his cheek, and his hand between his shoulder blades… something about keeping his back strong, Thor is saying. 

 

When he leans in and says, “Whenever you’re ready,” his beard brushes against Loki’s ear, and he looses the arrow before Thor’s even finished speaking. 

 

His shot goes so wide that it misses his target entirely and strikes the one next to it. 

 

“I told you he was shit!” the range master calls over, unimpressed. 

 

Thor tries not to laugh, and fails, but Loki is too dumbfounded to care.

 

* * *

 

Loki had never really gotten the hang of it, even after Thor had given him his space and brought someone else over to provide better instruction, and the next day, he finds that he’s still thoroughly shaken by the experience. Not being awful at archery—that doesn’t matter to him in the slightest—but how much Thor’s proximity had affected him.

 

It’s absurd, he thinks, flopping onto his back on his little sofa, unable to concentrate on his book. He had spent _weeks_ in a tiny tent with Thor back on Jotunheim, and the only thing that had bothered him then was the heat and Thor’s (at the time) annoying chatter. They had slept snuggled up together, for Ymir’s sake!

 

(He refuses to acknowledge the fact that he’d woken from that arrangement— _not unaffected_ as well.)

 

It’s very obviously just an odd, one-time occurrence, but for whatever reason, Loki still hasn’t managed to get over it by noon, when Thor should come calling at any moment to accompany him to a meeting with the trade minister. He’s more anxious than he cares to admit, not certain of how he’ll handle Thor’s presence now that this unsettling line of thought has taken hold of him, and so when there’s a knock at his door, he’s so startled that he yelps and leaps to his feet. 

 

It’s a servant, not Thor, and Loki can’t decide if he’s relieved or disappointed. But she tells him that Thor has been called away to Nidavellir on business for the Allfather, so it seems that he’ll be seeing Nefr on his own. 

 

Crisis averted… momentarily at least.

 

Focusing on the business at hand, he’s almost managed to forget his current preoccupation by the time he arrives at the council chambers for his meeting. But once again, he finds that ‘meeting’ is a loose interpretation. 

 

Nefr spends an hour speaking at length about how the reopening of trade will proceed, what goods and will not be allowed, heavy taxation (non-negotiable, it seems), and the fact that all trade will be handled by Asgard and through Asgard for an undetermined period of time. Only once he’s exhausted every subject that Loki could have thought of, and more besides, does Nefr finally ask what Jotunheim will be importing and exporting, though he adds, “But keep in mind that no weapon will be sold to any frost giant!”

 

No frost giant really needs one, Loki thinks to himself, staring blandly at Nefr’s beak of a nose, wondering how quickly he could remove it from his face… and what Nefr would do if he knew that. But then he summons his patience, and responds with a smile.

 

* * *

 

The rest of Loki’s fourth week in Asgard has nearly passed, and after careful deliberation, he’s decided that the incident at the range was simply a fluke, a by-product of having spent too much time with one person for too long. But the time he’s had to himself while Thor has been away was exactly what he needed to clear his head and examine the situation properly, and now, he can laugh at himself when he thinks back on it and just how ridiculous he’d been.

 

So when Thor finds him in the library, travel worn and still smelling of the forges on Nidavellir, looking nothing but delighted to see Loki there, it’s all the more shocking that his mouth goes dry and his stomach gives a peculiar little twist. 

 

Ymir help him. 

 

“I’m so sorry for my absence,” Thor says, leaning against the table next to him. “How was your conversation with Nefr?”

 

“Informative,” Loki manages to get out. 

 

(Has Thor always been so tall and broad-shouldered?)

 

“Better than the opposite, I suppose,” Thor says. 

 

“Hm.”

 

Thor seems to take his short replies as a signal that he wants to be left alone (which may or may not be true—Loki has no idea what he wants at this particular moment), and says, “I won’t keep you from your book, but since I’ve been neglecting my duties as your host, I’ve blocked off the next two days and am entirely at your service. Would you like to get out of the city tomorrow?”

 

Two days alone with Thor… But no, Loki can handle that. He’s here for a reason, and surely he can put aside this little hangup of his and make it through two days.

 

“Certainly,” he tells Thor, more confident than he really feels.

 

* * *

 

Thor collects him in the morning with his old fur-collared cloak on, a basket in one hand, and a bundle of blankets and pelts in the other.

 

“Are we going on an expedition?” Loki asks, ignoring his ridiculous nerves. 

 

“In a way,” Thor says. “I would tell you to dress warmly, but for some reason I don’t think you really need to. You might bring a book, though.”

 

There’s a skiff waiting for them outside, and Thor takes them away from the palace, weaving between tall buildings while Loki savors the cold wind in his face. It doesn’t take long before they’re out of the city and over the water, flying low enough that Loki can see his reflection in it when he leans over the side. 

 

The water eventually gives way to barren trees and low hills, and though Thor tells him how green and lush everything will look in the spring, it’s still more vegetation than he’s ever seen in one place. Pines and firs start to replace the leafless varieties as they climb higher into the mountains, and Loki spots a herd of elk down below, their brown coats helping them blend in with the scenery, but looking odd to his eyes. 

 

Once the ground turns white with snow and the air grows noticeably colder, Thor takes them down between the treetops, and finally lands in a broad, white meadow next to a mostly-frozen lake. It’s beautiful, in a stark, Jotunn sense, but there are dark clouds overhead, threatening a turn in the weather at any moment, and Loki wonders if this is the destination Thor had in mind. 

 

“I thought we might have some peace and quiet up here,” Thor tells him, answering that question. “And that you might like to see snow again.”

 

“That’s very thoughtful of you,” Loki says, because it certainly is, “but I’m not sure how much time we’ll have.”

 

At Thor’s confused look, he points upward. 

 

“Oh.”

 

In half an instant, the clouds begin to lighten and roll away, and Loki has to catch his breath at the powerful charge the air around Thor has taken on.

 

_God of thunder_ , he thinks, stunned. 

 

With the weather sorted, Thor gathers up his gear, and soon enough, he’s built a fire and carried over a fallen log to serve as a bench next to it. The basket contains their lunch, it turns out, and once they’ve eaten, quiet falls between them, and Loki can’t help but think of the days they’d spent like this on Jotunheim, on the road together. 

 

All the nights in that tent, as well… 

 

Loki feels his face growing hot, and blames it on the fire. … A distraction couldn’t hurt though.

 

He ignores Thor’s eyes on him as he spreads out one of the larger furs over the snow, rolling up one end to serve as a pillow, and once he’s settled on his back and has retrieved a book from his extradimensional stash, he finally looks over at Thor in question. 

 

“Yes?”

 

“Are you quite comfortable?” Thor asks, grinning. 

 

Loki rolls his eyes.

 

* * *

 

Thor had said the point of this little trip was peace and quiet, and after a few hours of nothing but the fire crackling, quiet birdsong from the trees, and the sound of pages turning, it seems that it’s been a success. Loki’s halfway through one of the Vanir poetry collections Thor had sent him, and when he sees that the next title is _Skirnismal_ , he recalls how Thor had said it reminded him of Loki, and glances over at him.

 

Engrossed in his own book, Thor is fiddling with a frayed spot in the hem of his cloak, picking at loose threads and poking a finger through a little hole in it absently. If he’s cold, he shows no sign of it other than the color in his cheeks and nose, and for a moment, Loki sort of gets lost, watching his blond hair flutter in the light breeze, his tongue darting out to wet his lips—

 

Thor is looking back at him, bemused, and Loki shuts his book with a loud snap. 

 

“Is there something on my face?” Thor asks. 

 

He feels thoroughly caught out, but Thor doesn’t seem to be bothered by his staring. Still, he should probably say something before it gets too suspicious, so he seizes upon the first thing that pops into his head. 

 

“You told me about your parents,” he says, “but you never said you were a seidr wielder as well.” 

 

“Oh, well… it’s really just elemental,” Thor deflects. “Mjolnir does most of the work. It’s nothing like what you can do.”

 

Loki isn’t so sure about that. And this is probably the worst idea that he’s had in a little while, but he sits up then, sets his book aside, and gestures for Thor to come sit down next to him anyway. 

 

“I don’t think that’s true. May I show you?” he asks, and after a moment’s hesitation, Thor gives in and joins him on the ground. 

 

Seidr is deeply personal, and Loki doesn’t have to have met another sorcerer to know that for himself. But he has a sneaking suspicion that Thor hasn’t quite tuned into his own power to the fullest, and between the desire to show him what he’s missing and his own curiosity, he decides that this is worth a little venture outside his comfort zone. 

 

The hammer is set down between them, Thor wraps a hand around the handle, and then Loki follows with both of his hands over Thor’s. 

 

“What do I…?” Thor starts, uncertain. 

 

“You’re the god of thunder, aren’t you? Call the thunder.”

 

He receives a frown in return. “I’m not sure you want that,” Thor says.

 

Neither is Loki, to be honest. Perhaps they should start smaller.

 

“Just charge it up then. If that’s how it works.”

 

Thor still doesn’t look convinced, but he nods, and within seconds, that surge of power is back, but more intense, tightening his throat and making his head swim. There are arcs of electricity dancing over their hands, and fascinated, Loki stares for a moment before he remembers the point of this experiment. 

 

He gathers up his own power then and reaches out, and it’s immediately clear that Thor himself is the source, not his hammer. His seidr burns bright and hot, and Loki stretches out a bit further, taking in the magnitude of it and the green, earthy impression that he can almost smell along with the ozone in the air. It’s elemental, like Thor had said, but it’s vast, and he can only imagine what Thor would be capable of if he could tap into it more deeply.

 

Loki means to tell him as much, but when he looks up, Thor is flushed and looking a bit overwhelmed, and he immediately lets go. 

 

“I’m sorry, I—I shouldn’t have done that,” Loki starts, holding up his hands and backing off. “I shouldn’t have pressed you like that.”

 

“No, I’m alright,” Thor insists. “It’s fine. It was… sort of incredible, actually.”

 

“… What?”

 

The way Thor’s face cycles through several expressions at once is a little dizzying, but he settles on something vaguely astounded and says, “I’ve never been so aware of anyone else’s power before. Not even my mother or father’s.They’ve never… never did whatever that was. But I could _feel_ you—your seidr, I mean.” 

 

Loki has no reply for that, other than to gape at him while he keeps rambling. 

 

“It was incredible, Loki. Hot and cold all at once and… and _radiant_. It was like the time I touched the Casket of Ancient Winters down in the vault as a child. It was just like that.”

 

As much as Loki has liked to pretend otherwise, he’s never felt as rooted, as truly _Jotunn_ as he does after hearing that. It’s like settling into a new skin for the first time, feeling it shift and fit into place, but this one is entirely his own. Just for a moment, he stares down at his hands and thinks of letting them fade back to blue, of watching his nails darken and his family’s lines appear on the backs of them. Thor wouldn’t begrudge him that, he’s sure…

 

“Are you alright?” Thor asks him, reaching over and taking him by the hand. 

 

Loki shakes off his sudden, peculiar mood, then nods and squeezes back.

 

* * *

 

They head down to the palace shortly afterwards, and the trip back is a quiet one. For as little as he’d done all day, Loki is exhausted by dinnertime, and goes to bed as soon as the chambermaid leaves with his empty plates. He still has another full day scheduled with Thor tomorrow, and if it’s half as draining as today had been, then he’ll need all the rest he can get.

 

* * *

 

_Something less gleaming_ , Loki had said when Thor asked what he wanted to see today, and this certainly fits the description.

 

This market is half the size of the one Thor had taken him to during Yule, but what it lacks in size, it makes up for in seediness and its selection of less than wholesome wares. Loki has seen all manner of potions with dubious labels, weapons of foreign make, and what is undoubtedly stolen merchandise as they’ve wandered the stalls, and though Thor is wearing an atypically dark cloak over his clothes as a sorry attempt at a disguise, plenty of vendors recognize him, and are quick to remove certain questionable goods from sight before he passes. 

 

There’s a bawdy play being performed on a tiny stage in the center of the market that they stop and roll their eyes at for a moment, but what piques Loki’s curiosity is a nearby selection of objects clearly meant for personal entertainment, and he leaves Thor next to the stage to take a closer look. 

 

Loki can admit to having conjured up some creative aids over the last thousand years, but he can’t begin imagine what some of these artifacts are even supposed to be used for… except for the enormous phallus made of blue glass, which is obvious, though frankly terrifying in size.

 

“Who in their right mind—” he mutters to himself, but then the merchant sees him looking and immediately rushes over. 

 

“We call that one the ‘Frost Giant,’” the man says. 

 

_Naturally_ , Loki thinks, sighing.

 

Thankfully he’s saved from any more awkward conversation when he hears his name shouted from further down the row. Thor is out in the aisle, excitedly waving him over, and when he sees the cause of it, Loki lets out a long-suffering groan. 

 

“It’s a snake!” Thor tells him, holding up his newfound friend, which happens to be as big around as his (very large) bicep, which it’s currently attempting to squeeze in half. 

 

In spite of his embarrassment, Loki does find the creature as interesting in person as he’d hoped it would be. But what embarrasses him more is the fact that he somehow manages to be _touched_ , of all things, that Thor had remembered and thought of him.

 

* * *

 

After the sun has set and the day has drawn to a close, they choose a tavern closer to the palace for a late dinner. And while they wait for their ale at the bar, Loki takes in the play of torchlight over Thor’s hair and face with a resigned, grudging sort of acceptance. The last two days have only confirmed this inconvenient attraction that he’s developed, and as much as he wishes it weren’t the case, he doesn’t see what he can possibly do about it.

 

If only his father knew, he thinks, and then cringes inwardly when he remembers that Laufey still thinks he’d bedded Thor back on Jotunheim. He doesn’t look forward to breaking the news that not only had he _not_ bedded Thor, he now thinks that he might actually _like_ to, but the odds are not in his favor that he’ll ever have the chance to. 

 

Because while Thor treats him well, and has for quite a long time now, it’s not as though Loki is _special_ in that regard. Thor is just as thoughtful and considerate with everyone else, he knows, so it’s certainly nothing to read too much into. 

 

“Inghild!” someone practically shouts in Loki’s ear, and he turns to find Thor’s friend Fandral behind him, making eyes at the barmaid. “You’ve changed your hair!” 

 

She doesn’t seem impressed, and hardly glances up from filling Loki and Thor’s pitcher as she says, “You said that the last time, and you were wrong then as well. Care to try again?”

 

“Come now,” Thor says, giving Fandral a clap on the shoulder that knocks him back a step. “I thought you were Fandral the Dashing, not Fandral the Half-Witted. Surely you can do better?” 

 

Fandral waves him off, saying, “I can, as you should know by now. You’re the one who concerns me. All this effort, but do you have anything to show for it?”

 

Before Loki can puzzle out what that means, Fandral turns to him and asks, grinning, “Tell me truly, your highness—may I call you Loki?—Do you feel sufficiently wooed yet? Or could he use some improvement? I’ve told him that subtlety may not be the best approach, you know.”

 

Loki nearly laughs at the absurdity of this statement, and its ironic timing, but then he sees the absolutely thunderous look on Thor’s face and is stopped cold. Even Inghild the barmaid seems to feel the shift in the atmosphere, and sets their pitcher on the counter without a word before finding something to do elsewhere.

 

“Goodnight, Fandral,” Thor says, his tone surprisingly even, and to his credit, Fandral accepts it as the command it is, and takes his leave. 

 

By the time they find seats and their food is brought out, Thor’s mood has improved, and Loki thinks that he might have been able to write the whole encounter off as simply a defense of his honor or something to that effect… except for the fact that Thor has said nothing, and the apologetic, anxious looks he keeps giving Loki over the table have started to make him wonder. 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **ETA[this beautiful incredible amazing piece of art](https://adaughterofthesun.tumblr.com/post/178314451564/i-loved-loved-loved-the-latest-chapter-of-all) that Alex has blessed us with TT^TT brb crying forever**
> 
>  
> 
> As you may or may not have noticed, the chapter count has been increased by one. I got going and realized there was no gotdam way this was fitting in 10 lol.
> 
> My plan is to get this all finished and posted before Big Bangs start going up, and once I finish CH11 (which I'm currently working on), updates should be much closer together. We'll see how that goes :D 
> 
> The usual:  
> \- [tumblr](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/)  
> \- [Sweet to Thee inspo tag](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/tagged/sweet-to-thee-inspo)  
> \- [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/wouldyouknowmore)


	9. Winter IV

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things get out of hand.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ok but  
>   
>  _ **OH BOY**_  
>     
> Also, if you didn't see [this amazing beautiful wonderful piece of artwork that Alex did](https://adaughterofthesun.tumblr.com/post/178314451564/i-loved-loved-loved-the-latest-chapter-of-all) for that archery lesson last chapter, OMG GO LOOK AT IT NOW.

It’s been three days since the encounter with Fandral at the tavern, and Thor has been scarce the whole time, yet again. 

 

Loki had promised himself not to dwell on what Fandral had said, or Thor’s reaction to it, and so naturally, he’s done nothing but stew in it all day and well into the night, and now, he finds himself unable to sleep.

 

Surely it had been a jest. Why in the Nine would Thor try and _woo_ him? They’ve got a professional, working relationship, after all, and… Well, it’s more of a friendship now, he supposes. But ambassadors can be friends, and give each other gifts. … Not that Loki had really given Thor anything, except for the ridiculous little reindeer. But the compliments and casual touches and staring (more frequent than he’d realized, now that he thinks back) were of a friendly nature, right? No romantic intentions there. 

 

He fuzzily remembers Thor cupping his cheek outside his room one night during Yule, and lets out a groan.

 

Grumbling to himself, Loki gets up from his armchair and moves to the sofa instead. There’s a letter from his father waiting unopened on the desk that he ignores on his way past it, but the final council meeting isn’t for another two days, and he doesn’t care to be scolded in written form just yet. 

 

Perhaps he’ll read until he can fall asleep. There’s a treatise on defensive spell-weaving that he’s been meaning to start… but then again, he’s not sure that he could concentrate well enough for that at the moment. Something easy, then, like the Vanir poetry collection he hadn’t finished that day beside the lake.

 

His bookmark is stuck at the start of the _Skirnismal_ when he retrieves it from his pocket dimension, and he hesitates. The point of this endeavor was _not_ thinking about Thor. … But maybe it won’t be so bad.

 

He reads the first stanza, immediately noting that it begins with someone falling in love with a beautiful Jotunn from afar. 

 

And he snaps the book shut, his heart pounding.

 

Oh, surely not.

 

… Laufey’s letter it is.

 

By the time he’s finished it, he’s angry enough to have forgotten all about his other little problem. 

 

He’s been berated for not bringing up the Casket, just as he’d expected would happen, and told that his father expects results out of this next audience with the council, but it’s the last bit that has him seething. The part where Laufey reminds him that he isn’t there on a leisure trip, that he isn’t Thor’s little pet, and that he’d best crawl out of that Asgardian’s bed and get to work if he’d like to keep his title as ambassador. Otherwise, he can count on never leaving Utgard again once he comes home.

 

Some cool air wouldn’t hurt, he decides, and fetches a tunic.

 

* * *

 

Ice has begun to form around the edges of the pool in the courtyard below, Loki sees when he leans over the railing of the balcony, breathing deep and trying to get a handle on his temper. It’s late enough that the palace is still and quiet, and his heavy sigh echoes down the empty corridor behind him. 

 

“Good evening,” says a voice then, and Loki jerks upright, startled. “Or is it morning now?”

 

Odin is standing next to him, looking out across the courtyard. Either Loki was so lost in thought that he missed the sound of his footsteps approaching, or the king of Asgard moves more silently than he would have thought possible.

 

“Allfather,” Loki says, nodding his head though Odin doesn’t turn to look at him. 

 

“You have little more than a week left here, if I am correct. And one more meeting with my council.”

 

Loki nods again, unsure whether or not a response is needed.

 

“Do you feel that you’ve been treated fairly during your stay?” Odin asks him, his tone still more stern than conversational.

 

“Yes, thank you. Thor has been very kind.”

 

Odin does turn to him then, his expression neutral, but probing. “I was referring to your negotiations with the council,” he says.

 

The unpleasant twist of Loki’s stomach nearly has him flinching, but he manages to keep from embarrassing himself further and says, “They questioned me quite thoroughly, but I’m sure it was warranted, given the circumstances.”

 

“Indeed,” Odin says. “But I want to make something clear to you now, Loki Laufeyson, as I’m sure it will be brought up soon.”

 

Loki’s mind immediately goes to Thor once more, as it so often does these days, and he’s certain that the Allfather is going to tell him to keep to himself until it’s time to go back to Jotunheim, to put any absurd notions out of his head now. He hardly has the chance to decide how the idea of that makes him feel before Odin continues, and he realizes that his thoughts have gone and betrayed him yet again. 

 

“Any decision regarding the Casket of Ancient Winters rests with me,” Odin says, and Loki silently curses himself for a fool, “and me alone. Not with Thor, nor the council. And it will be some time before I entertain any discussion of returning it.”

 

Perhaps the Allfather should send Laufey a letter himself then, Loki thinks. 

 

“I know what your people think of me, and of Asgard’s rule, and undoubtedly you have encountered some displeasing opinions of Jotunheim since you’ve been here. But the peace will not be broken by Asgard, I assure you. Can you say the same of Jotunheim?”

 

Loki holds Odin’s gaze, noticing for the first time how much taller he stands than the king, and taking in the lines and wrinkles upon his face. 

 

“I can only speak for myself,” Loki says after a moment, “but I also know that my father has no desire for conflict between our realms again. The rest of Jotunheim may not agree with us. I will tell you, however, that their cooperation could easily be secured if the Casket were returned as a gesture of goodwill.”

 

Odin’s one eye narrows, and Loki lets him ponder that for one more second before he adds, “Of course, I would never presume to tell the Allfather what to do, or make a request that I have been specifically advised against.”

 

He’s given a long, tense silence as a reward for his boldness, to stand there and wonder if he’s gone too far, Odin staring at him all the while with that same penetrating look that had had him sweating when they first met. 

 

Just when Loki thinks he should start a farewell letter to Thor when he gets back to his rooms, since he’s obviously going to be sent back to Jotunheim immediately and confined there in perpetuity, Odin gives him a thoughtful _hm_ , and says, “I see.”

 

Without another word, he turns and makes his way back down the corridor.

 

It takes several moments after he disappears around the corner for Loki to remember to breathe—and then he’s startled once again when a raven squawks down in the courtyard, and takes off with a flap of wings. 

 

Maybe he’ll just stand here a little while longer, he decides, bracing himself on the railing and willing his heart rate to slow. There are large, fluffy flakes starting to come down now, after all, and he doesn’t think he should miss his first Asgardian snowfall.

 

* * *

 

The second and final audience with the Asgardian council goes much faster than the first had, since there’s far less to discuss, but it isn’t without surprises. 

 

Trade is to begin within the month, Loki is told, and he happily informs the trade minister that his father’s council of elders will be overseeing those matters, and Nefr should contact them directly once Loki returns to Jotunheim the following week. That’s one chore he’s glad to be rid of, though he’s sure he’ll be required to step in and intercede now and then, and sooner than he would like. 

 

On the aid front, nearly all of Jotunheim’s requests have been granted, aside from a few minor things that Loki hadn’t expected would be approved in the first place. But what surprises him most is the announcement that a soul forge will be delivered to Utgard as soon as the technology can be adapted to suit a much larger individual, and that the Allfather himself had approved it. Eir seems less than pleased to deliver the news, and Loki makes sure to thank her profusely for her part in aiding Jotunheim.

 

Afterwards, he finds Thor waiting for him in the corridor outside, looking altogether taller and more handsome than he had the last time Loki had seen him, he’s sure. It’s really sort of irritating, if he’s honest, but that doesn’t seem to stop the ridiculous smile that spreads across his face as soon as Thor catches his eye. 

 

“Good news?” Thor asks, as soon as the council members have gone. 

 

“Yes, as a matter of fact.”

 

“Then perhaps a celebration is in order,” Thor says, smiling back. “Another Asgardian tradition, for your continuing education of course.”

 

Loki puts on a serious face and says, “Oh, of course. I wouldn’t want to be deprived of a learning opportunity.”

 

Thor’s hand on his shoulder then is entirely welcome, he thinks, and tries not to lean into it.  


 

“Then it’s settled. The day after tomorrow.”

 

* * *

 

It had only taken about two seconds after he and Thor had parted ways after the council meeting for Loki to begin wondering what sort of activity he’d agreed to. But whatever it turns out to be, he’s already decided that it will be his last good opportunity to make some observations and find out for certain how Thor truly feels about him, so he’s determined to see it through.

 

But it doesn’t take long for Loki to arrive at a conclusion once Thor brings him to a low, stone structure built into the side of a hill just outside the city, and tells him what’s inside. 

 

Thor does not like him, he decides. In fact, Thor hates him. Thor is trying to _kill_ him, even. 

 

“Is this revenge for the assassination attempt?” Loki asks, and Thor laughs.

 

“It won’t be so bad,” he insists. 

 

“It’s a _hot_ spring, Thor. I’m a _frost_ giant.”

 

“‘Giant’ is debatable,” Thor says, going in, and Loki reluctantly follows. “But this spring is the mildest one. It’s not as popular as the others, but I’m told that my very Jotunn grandmother favored it. You’ll be fine.”

 

Any spring would be more popular than this one, Loki sees once they’re inside. There’s a small changing area and a steaming pool, and both are deserted… and Loki finds that the idea that they’re alone here together is suddenly more concerning than the water temperature. 

 

“After you,” Thor says, gesturing toward the privacy screens. 

 

Alone together _and_ soon to be naked, actually. 

 

It’s not as though Loki has any qualms about being mostly undressed in Thor’s presence (it was the usual state of affairs on Jotunheim, after all), but the circumstances here are decidedly different, he thinks as he starts pulling off layers. Especially the part where Thor is also stripping down on the other side of the screen right this moment, as Loki is all too aware. He starts to imagine what that might look like, but quickly realizes that he had better stop now or risk embarrassing himself. 

 

He does wrap a towel around his waist before he ventures back out, and is relieved to see that Thor has done the same—for half a second, that is, and then he takes in the rest of Thor in just his towel and is much less comfortable for it. 

 

It’s far worse than he expected. 

 

(Loki has to make a conscious effort to keep his mouth closed.)

 

“Ready?” Thor asks. 

 

_No_ , Loki thinks to himself, but says aloud, “After you.”

 

The rear view is just as pleasant as Thor turns and climbs into the pool, and the play of muscles in his back is almost distracting enough for Loki to miss the very brief flash of a soft but shapely cock when Thor’s towel gapes open as he slips into the water. Almost. 

 

(His initial reaction is to describe it as ‘Loki-sized’ in his head, and he banishes the thought before it can go any further.)

 

“Personally, I think it could be warmer,” Thor says, sitting down and leaning back against the side. “But just try it for yourself.”

 

Loki is unconvinced, but Thor does make it look rather inviting when he spreads his arms out across the rim of the pool and settles in, so he sticks a foot in cautiously (and holds his own towel very tightly closed in the process). 

 

“Well?”

 

“It’s tolerable,” Loki admits, which is true, so a few moments later, he’s easing in and sitting down across from Thor, their knees nearly touching under the water. 

 

(The fact that he leaves his towel on earns him a raised eyebrow from Thor, but he doesn’t care. He hasn’t forgotten how their first conversation about Jotunn anatomy had gone…)

 

They sit in silence for a moment, Loki trying to acclimate and get comfortable. But all at once, it occurs to him that, though the purpose of this little outing may simply be for some Asgardian-style relaxation, it’s looking more and more like Thor may actually be interested in him romantically, and there’s no denying that Loki is interested in _Thor_ … and Thor _arranged_ this, knowing the spring was unpopular, and now they’re alone and practically nude—and Loki’s heart leaps into his throat when he realizes that he doesn’t know what might be expected of him here, or what he even wants himself. 

 

“All this running for Father has seriously impacted my sleep schedule,” Thor says then, soaking a rag in the water before tipping his head back and folding it over his eyes. “Would you please be so kind as to not let me drown if I doze off?”

 

Loki doesn’t know whether or not he should be disappointed… but he does finally remember to breathe. 

 

“Relax,” Thor adds, flicking water at him and ignoring his indignant huff. 

 

He doubts that will be possible, but after a few minutes, he’s proven wrong as the warm water and the quiet start to work on him, the tension slowly seeping away… and he sinks a little lower, letting his legs fall open under the water and leaning his head back against the stone ledge behind him. 

 

Maybe he can see the appeal of this after all, he thinks. It certainly has aesthetic value, what with Thor draped over the edge opposite him. With his eyes covered, it gives Loki the opportunity to look his fill, so he takes advantage, staring at Thor’s full lips and the swell of his chest when he breathes, the line of his collarbone, the hair under his arms, and the ridiculous size of his biceps… all the way down to his strong hands and long fingers.

 

Loki lets out a sigh and pulls his hair up off his neck, as though that will help with how hot he’s started to feel. The sound or the movement must catch Thor’s attention, though, because while Loki gathers his hair up at the back of his head, he notices that Thor is watching him, one eye peeking out from under the wet cloth on his face. Loki could say something, he knows, and call him out, but instead, he ties his hair up in a knot, taking his time, feeling Thor’s gaze on him all the while. 

 

He finds that he doesn’t really mind it so much now.

 

Thor slowly sits up straight again, his knee brushing against one of Loki’s in the water, and it so happens that he doesn’t mind that either. 

 

But then Thor slides the wet rag off of his face—and it drags his own hair into a damp, messy tangle over his eyes. 

 

Loki sighs again, but this time in exasperation.

 

“I can’t bear to look at that mess another minute,” he says, rolling his eyes, and Thor can’t keep a straight face after that, letting out a laugh and ineffectually pawing at his hair.

 

If he means to say something, however, he doesn’t get the chance before Loki’s climbing out of the water, holding onto his towel and very conscious of Thor’s eyes still on him. He’s probably lost his mind, but he’s going to crawl out of his skin if he has to sit there any longer, so he makes his way around the pool and plops down on the ledge behind Thor before he can second-guess himself. 

 

Yes, he’s definitely lost his mind, but he parts his legs to make room for Thor between them anyway, and reaches up to rake the hair back out of Thor’s face. 

 

“Am I finally getting to learn this fabled Jotunn hairstyling technique?” Thor asks him over his shoulder, still laughing, but Loki is sure he isn’t imagining the unsteadiness of his voice now. He gives Thor’s hair a less-than-gentle tug as payback for the sarcastic comment, but once he starts combing through it with his fingers, working out the tangles, he sees that Thor’s neck and shoulders have broken out in goosebumps, and no further flippant remarks are made.

 

If Loki had any doubts left, the way Thor leans back into him, his sides pressing warm against Loki’s legs, makes his feelings on the matter very plain. He can tell himself that they’ve been friendly for a while now all he likes, but Loki doesn’t think this really counts anymore… and he wonders if Thor can hear his heart pounding out of his chest. 

 

Thor’s ears slowly turn red while he works, and Loki ‘accidentally’ brushes against them with his fingers a time or two, just to watch a fresh wave of goosebumps spread down the sides of his neck. Dragging his nails along Thor’s scalp has a similar effect, so he makes sure to do it often while he starts pulling the top half of Thor’s hair back, much like he does his own. He has nothing to tie it off with, but it’s damp enough that the loose braid he works in holds it in place… and while he’s here, he may as well add a couple more small plaits on either side, so he does.

 

But sooner than he’d like, those are finished as well, and Loki hesitates, unsure of what to do with his hands, or himself in general. He’s crossed one line already, but he has no idea where the next one lies. Or if he’s ready to find out, for that matter… But then again, with Thor between his legs, nothing but a wet towel between the two of them, and nothing but his own hesitation to stop them, there’s really just one direction this could go, he realizes.

 

… _Norns_ , what was he thinking? 

 

His hasty decision to pull away is made at just the right time, and Thor’s fingers only graze across his as he leans back and climbs to his feet, though the jolt he feels at the contact makes him wonder if it wasn’t actually the _wrong_ time after all. Thor’s left reaching behind him a bit awkwardly, which Loki tries very hard not to feel guilty about, but he touches his hair instead, like that’s what he meant to do all along. It isn’t the smoothest save, but Loki certainly isn’t going to say anything about it. 

 

“I’m roasting,” he says instead, clearing his throat. It comes out sounding far more casual than he feels, thankfully, and Thor turns to look at him, lips parted where he’s breathing a little heavily through his mouth. 

 

“We should probably go, then,” he says after a long moment, and Loki finds it a little easier to breathe himself when Thor finally smiles at him and adds, “I’m getting wrinkled, I think.”

 

* * *

 

Loki’s tried everything he can think of to distract himself, but hours after they’d made their quiet way back to the palace and gone to their separate quarters, he’s still anxious and restless and thoroughly on edge. Reading had been useless (he’d stared at the same page for longer than he cares to admit, replaying the day’s events over and over in his mind), and he’d already written Laufey after the council meeting and has nothing more to say, and sleeping is out of the question…

 

So now he’s back in his usual Jotunn skin, lying blue in a bathtub he’s frozen to slush, hoping that shifting his shape and the cold will help. But every time he closes his eyes, he sees Thor across from him at the spring, the line of his throat where his head is tilted back, his tongue peeking out to wet his lips… He can’t stop thinking of what might have happened—what had almost happened, what surely _would have_ happened if he hadn’t panicked. 

 

Would Thor have turned around and pulled him down for a kiss, just as slow and sweet as all of his subtle overtures have been all this time? Or would the wait have made him impatient and as desperate as Loki feels now? The thought of Thor’s hands on him, spreading his thighs farther apart as he climbs up out of the water… Loki knows he would have just laid back and dragged Thor down along with him—

 

“For Ymir’s _sake_ ,” he hisses.

 

Loki lets out a furious huff and drags himself out of his utterly pointless ice bath, freezing the water on his skin and brushing it away like a small snowfall as he makes his way into the bedroom. This has proven impossible to ignore, so it seems he’ll just have to deal with it, he decides, and he throws himself on the bed, flat on his back. 

 

He’s been in various states of half-arousal for quite a while now, and the first touch of his hand on his cock nearly leaves him sobbing. It’s well past the point of taking his time or drawing it out—he’s fully hard and practically dripping almost immediately—and he wastes no time, sticking two fingers of his other hand in his mouth and getting them slick. It turns out to be unnecessary though, as wet as he already is, and he eases them in all the way up to the knuckle with hardly any resistance, just feeling simultaneous relief and frustration that it’s his own hand instead of Thor’s. 

 

And, oh, he remembers the sight of Thor’s long fingers, dangling just above the surface of the pool… and his cock, what little he had seen of it. But he has no trouble imagining what it might look like erect… Would it flush red, he wonders, like he’s seen Thor’s cheeks and lips in the cold? 

 

He’s pumping his fingers in and out in time with his strokes now, breathing raggedly, and all it takes is the thought of Thor over him and in him to send him over the edge, biting his lip to keep quiet and striping his stomach as he comes. 

 

He lays there, catching his breath for a minute, trying hard not to give this too much thought, but failing miserably. 

 

He knows he’s too far in now. But then he wonders if Thor is down the hall in a similar state… and he decides that he doesn’t really care at the moment.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't have anything to say about anything.
> 
> eyes emoji
> 
>  
> 
> The usual:  
> \- [tumblr](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/)  
> \- [Sweet to Thee inspo tag](http://wouldyouknowmore.tumblr.com/tagged/sweet-to-thee-inspo)  
> \- [Pillowfort](https://www.pillowfort.io/wouldyouknowmore)
> 
>  **JAN 29, 2019 ETA:** [Amazing incredible art by the amazing incredible Aivelin](https://twitter.com/Aiverin/status/1090467163461337088) ft. what should have gone down this chapter :O  
>  (you do need to follow Aivelin's twitter in order to see the full pic for porny reasons)


	10. Winter V

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Loki makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [softly] _oh boy_

It’s warm when Loki wakes up… too warm, he thinks, but the insistent knocking at the outer door of his chambers continues, and he’d much rather make that stop than figure out the temperature situation right now. Still, he throws open a window as he stumbles to the door, noting with no small amount of irritation that the sun hasn’t even risen yet, and pulls on a robe to avoid scandalizing whoever it is at his door with his nudity. 

 

“My apologies,” the servant starts to say once the door is opened—but when he looks Loki in the face, he takes a step back, eyes going wide.

 

Loki is sure his frown is severe, but not nearly severe enough to warrant that sort of reaction. He almost asks if everything is quite alright, but then the servant hesitantly hands him an envelope, and Loki notices how dark the blue of his skin looks against the paper.

 

No wonder he feels so warm, he thinks, sighing to himself.

 

“Thor insisted that I deliver this to you personally… Your highness.”

 

The servant’s tone is polite and appropriately respectful, and Loki even thinks of quickly shifting to his Aesir skin before dismissing the idea—it would likely alarm him even more. 

 

But then he looks back up, and there’s no mistaking the undisguised revulsion on the man’s face. 

 

Suddenly feeling far less accommodating, Loki holds his gaze a moment longer than he ought to, and then another for good measure while he gauges the level of fear and disgust he’s dealing with. But finally, the servant looks away (unnerved by his red eyes, perhaps), and Loki dismisses him with thanks delivered in the most pleasant voice he can muster. 

 

Not for the first time, he wonders to himself how this trip to Asgard would have gone were he not a shapeshifter… and he kicks the door shut behind him with a little more force than is strictly necessary.

 

There’s a note from Thor in his hand, however, and his annoyance gradually evaporates as he stares at his name, written on the outside in small, light runes. He doesn’t open it just yet though; instead, he takes his time stripping out of his robe and cleaning up the mess he’d made of himself the night before… thinking all the while how much worse his situation looks by the light of day. As desperate as he’d been after the hot spring, he knows now that he’d made the right call in pulling away when he did. There’s no telling how he might have embarrassed himself if he hadn’t. 

 

Besides, he wasn’t ready, and still isn’t ready for whatever may have come of that situation.

 

He’s adopted his Aesir shape and dressed before he decides to read Thor’s note… and though it’s brief, it still manages to have him questioning himself all over again.

 

_My father has the worst timing, it seems. I’ll be back before your farewell feast, whether I’ve finished in Vanaheim or not. Better still, tomorrow or the day after, if I can manage._

 

_I’d hoped we would have more time._

 

_See you soon._

 

Loki tells himself resolutely that the space is for the best, and he almost believes it.

 

There are five days left until he returns to Jotunheim.

 

* * *

 

Thor’s note is still tucked in the cover of Loki’s book the next day, and just knowing that it’s there is doing nothing for his concentration. He’s reread the last paragraph of this history of the realms three times, but still couldn’t say with any certainty what it’s about.

 

The courtyard is mostly quiet, aside from the constant chatter of the fountain in front of him, water splashing into the half-frozen pool, and the occasional conversation that reaches his ears from servants and courtiers and nobles hurrying through the open corridors to get out of the cold and the snow. They pay him no mind, and he ignores them as well—that is, until a pair of polished boots stops before his bench, and a voice says, “Good morning, highness.”

 

It’s Fandral, Loki sees when he looks up, shoulders wrapped in tan fur that looks even softer than Loki’s wolfskin, and wearing an unusual, contrite look upon his face. 

 

“May I sit with you a moment?” he asks. 

 

Cautious but curious, Loki nods and gestures toward the empty spot next to him. 

 

“Be my guest.”

 

Fandral accepts, but then gasps as he sits and clutches his fur a bit tighter. “Norns’ sake!” he says. “This bench is near frozen! Are you not cold?” 

 

Loki raises an eyebrow at him, and gives him a small, patient smile.

 

“Oh, my apologies! I’d nearly forgotten,” Fandral laughs, but then he quickly sobers again. “Of course, it seems I can’t open my mouth in your presence without needing to beg your forgiveness immediately thereafter… which is what I’ve come to do, if I may.”

 

He stares up at the fountain a moment, perhaps searching for the right words, and then finally clears his throat and says, “I spoke out of turn at the tavern last week, and I am truly sorry for it. It doesn’t excuse my behavior, but Thor’s spoken of hardly anything but you since he returned from Jotunheim, and I nearly felt as though I already knew you. I was more familiar in tone with you than I ought to have been, I know, but you have my word that it won’t happen again.”

 

“I appreciate that,” Loki says, taking care to keep his expression neutral.

 

“I’ve apologized to Thor as well, you know. I couldn’t bear the thought of my prince and dearest friend coming to grief because of me—or because of anyone else, for that matter. He’s never been so angry with me before… but then, he hasn’t been quite this serious before, either.”

 

The implied threat upon his person registers the moment Fandral says it, but it’s immediately driven from Loki’s mind when he hears the phrase, _quite this serious_. 

 

“But tell me,” Fandral continues before he can come to terms with it, “did Thor really almost freeze to death in Jotunheim?” His accompanying grin is bright, and it takes Loki a second longer than it should to realize that he’s changed the subject, lightening the mood and apparently looking for ammunition with which to tease Thor later. 

 

“Oh, yes,” he replies once he catches up, “but you’ll have to get that story from him.” 

 

(After all, he can’t possibly tell it without describing the tiny tent and the compromising position… and the less he talks about Thor, the better. Fandral would no doubt scent his complicated feelings a mile off, and it would only complicate them further for Thor to find out before Loki even has a chance to decide what he wants.)

 

Fandral is still smiling at him though, so Loki gives him a smirk in return and says, “You can ask him about the reindeer calf he delivered while you’re at it.”

 

“Truly?!” Fandral says, laughing.

 

* * *

 

The last full day of Loki’s time in Asgard is drawing to a close, and Thor still hasn’t returned. 

 

From his spot on the balcony above the courtyard (his usual haunt these days, it seems), he can see the last sliver of the sun slipping behind the palace, and the snowflakes falling around him catch the light, tinged pink and orange along with the sunset. The fountain has frozen over entirely now, but the water can still be heard bubbling away beneath its thick layer of ice.

 

He’ll miss this view… but he knows he needs to take a step back and _think_ , and part of him is anxious to be home, hoping that it will help put things in perspective.

 

_Quite this serious_ , he hears Fandral say in his head again, for the dozenth time. That one little comment has weighed on his mind nearly every moment of the last few days, and though he’d like to deny it, though he’s been embarrassingly oblivious all this time, he knows now what it means. 

 

Thor is in love with him. It’s quite clear.

 

And he isn’t _ready_ for that, he thinks desperately.

 

It’s all new to him, after all. He’s never done any of this before—courting, if he can call it that—and it’s only been a few weeks since he even realized that he was attracted to Thor in the first place. It’s all too much, too soon. He’d only been thinking in terms of… well, a quick fuck on the stone floor of the hot spring, to be perfectly honest, and as much as he may have enjoyed that, he can’t say for certain what Thor would have expected of him afterwards. What if that had been all it took to get this out of Loki’s system, and Thor had been left wanting, looking for more from him? Where would that leave them? 

 

There would certainly be unpleasant political ramifications, even though he’s sure Thor couldn’t and _wouldn’t_ do anything to jeopardize Jotunheim’s standing with Asgard. But he can also admit now how much he cares about Thor personally and values his friendship, and he can’t justify putting him through that disappointment just to scratch a thousand-year-old itch.

 

It could be that, in time, Loki might come to feel more than whatever this is, but that’s the whole problem, he knows. Until he can sort out his own feelings, or even get some other, comparable experience with someone besides Thor, he’s got to put a stop to the gentle touches and the longing looks and the hope that this could turn into something more. It will be difficult, but he doesn’t see any other option.

 

“Do you know how many tables there are in the library?”

 

The warm sound of Thor’s voice, sudden and unlooked-for, sends a thrill straight up his spine, and Loki has to reach out and grab the balcony railing to steady himself.

 

“No,” he says, as soon as he’s able. “How many are there?”

 

“I didn’t bother counting, to be honest, but you weren’t at any of them. Are you feeling alright?”

 

There’s a smile on Thor’s face when Loki turns to look at him, and he returns it before he can stop himself. ‘Difficult’ was a gross understatement, he sees now, especially with the way the dwindling sunlight glints like gold in Thor’s hair, tied back from his face just as Loki had done it at the spring.

 

“How was Vanaheim?” Loki asks, trying for casual.

 

“Hot, even for me,” Thor says, and steps forward to join him at the railing, leaning against it as well. “It’s summer there. You’ll have to warn your ambassador about the climate once one is chosen.”

 

“If I did, they’d likely insist that I go instead. But I hear that Vanaheim is lovely, so perhaps it wouldn’t be such a hardship.”

 

Thor gives him a pout at that, and says, “It would be a hardship for me. What am I supposed to do without you?”

 

The clench of Loki’s stomach gives him pause, but he manages to say, “I’m sure you could find a more agreeable Jotunn than me for your ambassador,” and gives a dismissive wave of his hand—

 

But then Thor catches it in his own, and very carefully fits their palms together, sliding his calloused fingers over Loki’s until their hands are clasped. 

 

Loki realizes then that he’s forgotten how to breathe.

 

“I wouldn’t want anyone but you,” Thor tells him, “agreeable or not.”

 

His smile has faded, but his eyes are no less soft, and Loki knows that he’s got to say something now… he ought to take his hand back and put some distance between them, tell Thor that this can’t continue any further, but then Thor’s gaze drops from his before he can, slipping down his face—to his lips, Loki realizes, and his heart leaps into his throat.

 

“I missed you,” Thor says, low and quiet, and looks back up, eyes questioning—asking permission. 

 

Loki stares back, frozen. 

 

Slowly, deliberately, Thor begins to close the distance between them, giving him every opportunity to pull away, and Loki knows without a doubt that he should. 

 

But he also knows that Thor is going to kiss him if he doesn’t… and he’s growing steadily more confident of the fact that he’s going to _beg_ for it if Thor takes any longer.

 

“Loki,” Thor breathes, nearly close enough to taste, “I—”

 

“My prince, your mother is— _oh—_ ”

 

The intruding voice brings Loki back to his senses with a jolt, and he immediately shrinks back from Thor, a panicked litany of _too close, too close, too close,_ racing through his mind. He’s so shaken that he nearly misses the way the air pressure and the temperature drop simultaneously as Thor rounds on the poor serving girl and snaps with uncharacteristic harshness, “My mother _what_?”

 

“She asked me to fetch you,” the girl says, backing away slowly, her eyes wide. “I’m sorry. She said it was urgent. Something about placement, for the feast perhaps, but I didn’t—I didn’t realize you were—”

 

A look from Thor silences her rambling, but then he sighs and says, “Of course. Tell her I’ll be just behind you.”

 

The servant wastes no time on a curtsy and dashes away, and before Loki has even caught his breath again, Thor gives his hand a gentle squeeze and says, “Meet me here after the feast,” then presses his lips to Loki’s knuckles and rushes off after her.

 

* * *

 

The only thing that gets Loki out the door of his chambers, dressed in his finest Asgardian clothes and prepared to see this through, is the fact that this feast is being held in his honor, and it simply wouldn’t do for him to spend it locked in his room, or sneaking down to the observatory with his trunk in tow, hoping the Watchman will take pity on him and send him home early.

 

That doesn’t mean he isn’t terrified, however. 

 

He’s nearly passed the throng of people gathered outside the feasting hall before he even notices they’re there, as preoccupied as he is, but then curiosity takes over, and he stops to see what it is that has everyone’s attention. 

 

Hanging on the wall is the tapestry Thor had shown him his first day here, scenes from the lives of Borr and Bestla. It’s been cleaned and restored it seems; the snowy Jotunn landscape and Bestla’s red eyes now glimmer with new thread, and the blue of his skin is vibrant and deep. It’s Frigga’s work, Loki is sure, and as for the placement… There isn’t a busier corridor in the entire palace, especially not tonight, when the hall is filling with revelers. He’s just as certain that it was Thor who chose the location. 

 

Someone bumps into him as he steps up for a closer look, and he’s just about to beg their pardon when he hears a voice behind him whisper, “I’d heard she was a frost giant, but for Norns’ sake!”

 

He turns, incredulous, thinking they’ve addressed this statement to him, but he can’t track down the speaker… and then it no longer matters when he realizes that nearly everyone around him is frowning, holding conversations under their breaths or in hushed tones as they stare up at the tapestry in distaste.

 

“Why in the Nine would they put this _here_?” someone else asks nearby. 

 

And then another: “Can you imagine marrying a beast like that?” 

 

“I don’t care how she looked if _that_ was underneath it!” 

 

He wonders briefly if they would even care that he’d heard them, but no one seems to have noticed him in their midst. But then again, why would they? He looks like any Asgardian, after all. And for once, he’s glad of it. 

 

Loki takes one last look up at Thor’s grandparents, and Bestla’s soft, feminine Aesir face in the last scene. Then he turns and makes his way out of the crowd, keeping his eyes on his feet and his head down.

 

* * *

 

For all the uncertainty and apprehension and anxiety, in the end, Loki finds that it isn’t so difficult to reach a decision after all. 

 

He knows now that no matter how he feels about Thor, this could never work. Not even if he loves Thor—

 

The glance over the table then can’t be helped, but thankfully Thor’s distracted, Volstagg and Fandral trying to draw him into their good-natured argument over… something. Loki doesn’t know. He hasn’t been paying attention.

 

_If_ he could come to love Thor someday, he amends to himself, and looks away. 

 

Regardless of his feelings, he can’t stomach the thought of staying in this Aesir skin the rest of his days, bearing Asgardian heirs and ignoring barely-concealed insults to his people and his home… hearing whispers about what he really is beneath his false shape. The taste he’d gotten in the corridor was surely just the start, the barest glimpse of what would come later. 

 

And once Jotunheim’s borders are opened…? The idea that other Jotnar could visit Asgard—within a matter of years if all goes as planned—and see him this way, pink-skinned and dressed like his hosts, ruins his appetite entirely. Even if he might someday stand beside the throne, whatever satisfaction that might have given him would be soured by the knowledge that he’d given up his very identity to get there. Imagining the looks of disgust on Helblindi and Byleistr’s faces is easy enough, and he can’t say that he would blame them. 

 

Loki pushes his plate away, nauseated by the rich food on it. The gesture is noticed, if Frigga’s subtle pause is anything to go by, but he can’t bring himself to look her in the face either, or the Allfather at the head of the table… 

 

And he realizes then that he’s been operating under the assumption that Odin would even allow his only son and successor to wed a frost giant in the first place. If the match were forbidden, would Thor still want to keep him in Asgard anyway? A courtesan, standing aside for the queen-to-be and raising the new king’s bastards, kept like the pet Laufey already thinks he is?

 

“Can I have something else brought out for you?” Frigga asks him then, her hand light at his elbow, and at first, Loki can only stare at her. But the question is enough to snap him out of his brooding, and all at once, he understands that he’s being absolutely _ridiculous_.

 

Here he is, agonizing over his future with Thor, and he doesn’t even know if this is more than a silly little crush. In fact, that’s almost certainly what it is.

 

“No, but thank you,” he says to Frigga, and manages a reassuring smile. “I just felt odd for a moment.”

 

Before the feast has ended, Loki finds his grins and conversation easier, with Frigga at least, and he hardly spares a look at Thor as everyone finally leaves the hall. If he thinks of Thor’s request that they meet back on the balcony after dinner at all, it’s quickly dismissed. 

 

His steps are light as he makes his way back to his rooms, and while he packs the rest of his things, he tells himself that this is simply an insignificant, first-time attraction, and he’ll be over it soon enough. 

 

Besides, he’d sworn to himself ages ago that he would never change his shape for a lover… otherwise he could have just shifted into a more typically Jotunn size as soon as he’d learned to hold a stable form other than his own, and found someone at home or let his father marry him off. So he won’t do it now, not even for Thor, and when things eventually settle between Jotunheim and the other realms, he’ll simply go somewhere else. Maybe he’ll find someone, or maybe he won’t, but either way, he’ll remain himself.

 

And anyway, he thinks with a huff as he undresses and climbs into bed, how could he live with Laufey thinking he’d gone and followed orders like a good little bargaining chip?

 

(He resolutely ignores the thought of the Casket lying in its vault all those floors beneath him, and how pivotal its return would be. He’d asked Odin for it outright, to his very face, hadn’t he? He’s done his job.)

 

By the time Loki falls asleep, after hours of lying there, staring up at the canopy over his bed, he’s almost convinced himself that he doesn’t care, that he isn’t interested in anything Thor has to offer him, and that he hadn’t heard that soft, hesitant knock at his outer chamber door. 

 

* * *

 

Loki’s confidence had taken a staggering blow the next morning when he’d seen Thor waiting for him outside, and the hesitant but still hopeful look upon his face. 

 

But it hadn’t changed the situation, and Loki still holds firm to his decision. If he can just get back home and back into his old routine, he’s sure that things will return to the way they were soon enough. It’s just a matter of making it through this goodbye.

 

The city flies by in a blur of color, but the details are lost on Loki. He’s too conscious of Thor’s eyes on him to pay much attention to the scenery, aside from keeping watch for Heimdall’s observatory, wishing they were already there. He’s as far forward in the skiff as he can manage, and the distance between them prevents conversation, just as he’d intended. But he can’t help glancing back every so often, even though he knows it’s only making this worse. Every time he does, Thor only looks more lost and dejected… any remaining optimism had quickly faded from his face once they’d left the palace.

 

By the time they finally arrive, the chilly air between them feels thick enough to cut with a knife, and the tension has Loki’s skin crawling, much as it had at the hot spring, but for far less pleasant reasons. He can tell himself that it isn’t guilt that he feels gnawing away at him all he likes, but when Thor sets his trunk down and looks at him helplessly, the hurt and confusion plain in his eyes, Loki can’t take it anymore, and he makes one last choice.

 

He’s faked many smiles in his life, and more in the last half-year than the rest combined, but this one is the most difficult. 

 

“Thank you for your hospitality,” he says, light and casual, and he gives Thor a brisk, impersonal clap on the shoulder before he reaches for his trunk. 

 

When he looks back up, Thor’s face has gone stony and is well on its way to furious, and Loki knows he’s been successful. The anger and bitterness are far easier to bear than the heartbroken sorrow, after all.

 

Loki doesn’t so much as glance behind him once as he takes his place between Heimdall and the iris, but the moment his feet touch the frozen ground outside his father’s palace, he’s seized by a deep, shuddering breath that he can’t hold back. 

 

“Oh, look at the precious little Aesir prince!” Byleistr singsongs by way of greeting once the mist clears. “Don’t you know we eat pink people here?”

 

But Loki ignores him, and digs his nails into his palms as he shifts back to his own skin and starts walking. He doesn’t look up from his feet as he makes his way inside, not even when his brother calls after him, concern coloring his voice, and he leaves his soft, beautifully tailored Asgardian clothing scattered in a trail that follows him down the corridor.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more to go...
> 
> (Stay with me here)


	11. Spring

The familiar rumble of the Bifrost sounds late in the afternoon one day near the end of spring, and Loki pays it no mind. The back-and-forth is almost daily now that Asgardian and Jotunn merchants have been trading for a good long while, and it’s been nearly as long since the sound of visitors arriving stirred any sort of reaction from him. 

 

It’s one of the few things that doesn’t, however, and the last three and a half months since he returned home have taught the palace servants, his brothers, and even his father to give him a wide berth when one of his all-too-frequent sullen moods strikes. The fact that the first had resulted in a shouting match with Laufey just two days after he’d left Asgard should have been cause enough for punishment of some sort, but (regrettably) that incident had also ended in Loki spitting at his father, “And another thing—I never even fucked Thor, not _once_!” 

 

To Loki’s horror, Laufey had come out of that argument apparently feeling _sorry_ for him, and had spent the next week giving him what might have been an attempt at consoling looks when they passed in the halls. But his father’s patience has its limits, as he well knows, and it’s only a matter of time before one of his outbursts gets him publicly flogged, or worse, sent back to Asgard on official business. 

 

Because he knows now how wrong he’d been—not in turning Thor away (he’d had no choice there, after all)—but in thinking that it had been nothing more than a trivial, shallow sort of attraction, one that would fade given a little time and space. He only wishes it had. 

 

It would have made this whole mess far easier to get over if Loki hadn’t gone and fallen in love himself. 

 

And so, try as he might, Loki finds that keeping his temper in check these days is simpler said than done, especially when it comes to dealing with Asgardians.

 

“Absolutely not,” he says, not bothering to look up from his desk. 

 

“I was told you would say that,” Ottar, Hyndl the healer’s son, replies through the crack in the door (smart, this one, to keep a barrier between them—he’s caught on quickly since coming to serve at the palace). “Your father also said that if that were the case, I should tell you that not only are you required to entertain the Asgardian messenger until dinner, you’ll also be _joining_ the two of them for dinner.”

 

Ottar pulls the door shut as a preemptive safety measure as soon as he’s finished speaking, and Loki slams his book down in frustration. He’d told Laufey and his brothers and the entire council of elders that he had no further interest in serving as emissary between the two realms, but still, infuriatingly, his father insists on involving him. This isn’t the first time, and likely won’t be the last.

 

“Who is it anyway? This messenger he means to keep for dinner,” Loki shouts through the door, then stands with a sigh and straightens his cape (the black wolfskin, even though he hates it—he’s tried getting rid of it, but hasn’t been able to just yet). 

 

“The king didn’t say,” comes Ottar’s muffled answer.

 

Of course not. But if he doesn’t comply, it’s only going to be worse for him by the end, so he opens the door with all the patience he can muster, and takes a certain satisfaction in the way the boy leaps back from him, holding his one hand up in supplication despite the fact that he’s already three feet taller than his prince.

 

“Tell my father I’ll be down shortly, then,” he says, and Ottar rushes off to obey.

 

When Loki arrives in the entry hall and sees the messenger for himself, however, he decides that really, he’d prefer the flogging.

 

“Loki,” Thor says.

 

Ymir help him.

 

Thor is still irritatingly good-looking, even with the frown, and Loki has to take a moment to steady himself before he can reply. But that has less to do with Thor’s handsomeness than it does the painful wrench of Loki’s heart.

 

“What brings you to Utgard?” Loki asks, twisting his face into the best approximation of casual indifference he can manage. 

 

“I wanted to oversee the delivery of the soul forge. They’re taking it to Hyndl’s shop now.”

 

The coldness in Thor’s voice is a far cry from the gentle teasing and fond laughter Loki remembers so well, but thankfully, that only makes it easier for him to act as though nothing’s wrong between them.

 

“That’s excellent news,” he says, trying to keep it light. “My father has asked me to invite you to dinner, you know, but I’m sure you’re quite busy—”

 

“I’ll stay, thank you,” Thor cuts him off, maintaining that ice-cold eye contact, and Loki’s mask nearly slips at the intensity of it. 

 

“Oh. Of course.”

 

Ottar had mentioned _entertaining_ their guest, though Loki doesn’t see how he’s supposed to manage that. Still, he suggests a move down the corridor to his study, but he doesn’t bother to hope that the change of scenery will lessen the tension. He does wonder whether or not Thor has taken note of the once-crumbling walls that have now been repaired, or if he’d seen how much livelier Utgard seems these days, but the prince of Asgard says nothing. 

 

In fact, Thor maintains his silence all the way to the study, until after he’s taken in the shelves that line the walls, the books upon them, and the odd assortment of large and small furniture, and has made himself comfortable in Loki’s favorite armchair. 

 

Loki is leaning on the edge of his desk, trying to avoid his gaze, when Thor finally speaks.

 

“You’re even more beautiful that I’d remembered,” Thor tells him, apropos of nothing. 

 

And Loki loses his footing, nearly sliding straight into the floor. 

 

“ _Damn_ it, Thor!” he hisses when he regains his balance, all composure long gone. “You can’t just say that!”

 

It isn’t just his own control lost either; Thor jumps to his feet, exasperation clear on his face, but he doesn’t take more than half a step toward Loki, as much as it seems that he might like to march over and shake him. 

 

“Why not?” Thor demands. “I know you felt it as well. I _know_ it. Look at me and try to tell me that you didn’t.”

 

Loki straightens his back, sets his jaw, and says, “I didn’t.”

 

He receives an unconvinced look in reply, one of Thor’s eyebrows raised in challenge.

 

He used to be such a good liar, too. 

 

“It doesn’t matter,” Loki deflects, looking away and starting to pace, unable to keep his restless feet still. “No good could come of this. It simply wouldn’t work, Thor.”

 

“Why the hel not? Because you’re Jotunn and I’m Aesir, is that it? We both know that’s a poor excuse.”

 

“Partly, but it’s more than that!” Loki says. He’s had plenty of time to think this over, after all, and he knows that even without the difficult dynamics between their realms, the fact remains that Thor is everything Loki is not: his father’s heir, considerable in power and stature (for an Aesir, at least), beloved of his people, quick to forgive and to laugh, even at himself… Loki doesn’t say any of this aloud, but some of it must come through in the way he insists, “We’re much too different, nearly opposite,” because Thor throws up his hands and practically shouts at him. 

 

“It’s called _complementing_ each other, you idiot!” he half-roars, and Loki doesn’t even get the chance to be properly insulted before he’s seized by the shoulders and dragged in close, Thor muttering, “Why must everything be so damnably difficult with you,” just before he bends down and kisses Loki soundly.

 

Loki, understandably, takes several long moments to grasp what’s happening. 

 

By the time he does, Thor’s hands on him have gentled, but it’s a good thing he’s still being held, because Loki’s knees nearly give out on him. For all Thor’s frustration, his lips are soft and light upon Loki’s, his beard coarse against his chin, but not unpleasantly so. Briefly, Loki thinks of pulling away and berating him for his boldness, but then Thor tilts his head and fits their mouths together more fully, and he can’t help but mirror the movement, relaxing into it and finally kissing back as best he can.

 

It’s Thor who pulls back some time later, though only far enough to look him in the eyes, and Loki stares back, slightly dazed and lightheaded… and then he remembers what Thor had said. 

 

“You called me an idiot,” he grouses. 

 

“That’s because you are,” Thor tells him with a solemn sort of look, and before Loki can protest, he adds, “and I love you for it.”

 

Having known this for several months still isn’t adequate preparation for hearing it straight from Thor himself, and at first, Loki can only stand there, holding onto Thor’s breastplate and going warm all over. But regardless of how true it may be, and regardless of how Loki feels himself, he doesn’t think that one kiss and a declaration of love will make any difference in their situation. 

 

“Does that change anything, though?” he asks, looking down at his hands where they’re pressed against Thor’s chest, the steel of his armor cool beneath his fingers. “We’re still who we are, and I can’t live the rest of my life like Bestla, pretending to be something I’m not. I _can’t_.”

 

“Then don’t,” Thor says, as though it’s as simple as that, and Loki scoffs.

 

“But what would people say, Thor? You’re going to be king someday, and I seriously doubt the people would take kindly to the idea—”

 

“I don’t care,” Thor interrupts. “And any Asgardian who would dare say a word against you would surely come to regret it.”

 

With a disgusted huff, Loki rolls his eyes and says, “Oh yes, that will solve everything. The mighty Thor protecting his little pet frost giant. No, thank you.”

 

But Thor just looks down at him, the hint of a grin tugging at the corner of his mouth. “It isn’t _my_ wrath they need fear,” he says. “Only a fool would dare insult you to your face, though I’ll admit that I would love to see you bring them low for it.”

 

The flattery is blatant, but effective, and Loki warms a little further in spite of himself. But he still can’t shake his nagging doubts. 

 

“Where would we even go from here?” he wonders aloud, and Thor lifts a hand to his face, tracing over the clan lines across his chin and jawline with the pad of his thumb. Loki can’t help but lean into it, and doesn’t bother trying to keep from it.

 

“Well, I thought I would stay for dinner,” Thor tells him, “and then go home, speak to my father, and return here with a formal offer of marriage… if that sounds quite alright with you.”

 

(It will be a miracle if Loki makes it out of this room alive, he thinks. Thor is apparently intent on stopping his heart altogether.)

 

“You think Odin will approve? What if he doesn’t?”

 

Thor’s face breaks into the first smile Loki’s seen since that day on the balcony back in Asgard, and he says, “Then I’ll return with a slightly less formal offer, and you and I may need to make a run for it. But he will. Father likes you.”

 

Dumbfounded, Loki says, “I beg your pardon?” but Thor just digs his fingers into the hair at the nape of Loki’s neck, gently tilts his face up, and looks him long and hard in the eye.

 

“Is that everything?” Thor asks after a moment. “Or do you have further excuses—I’m sorry, _questions_ for me?”

 

Aside from the very improbable idea of the Allfather _liking_ him, Loki finds that all of his arguments against giving in and letting this go where it will seem far less convincing now than they had before Thor arrived. He’s certain that it won’t be nearly as simple as Thor makes it out to be, but then again, Loki has never known anything in his life to be simple (and can begrudgingly admit to a good portion of that being his own fault). Perhaps it’s a risk he could take after all.

 

But Loki is still himself, and even while his anxiety and frustration are rapidly turning into something else—something relieved and bordering on hopeful building up in his chest—he finds that he can’t let Thor have his way so easily. 

 

“Yes, I do have one more question,” he says, just to be contrary, and gives Thor a falsely irritated glare. “What _is_ it with you and my hair?”

 

Still smiling, Thor wraps a lock around his fingers and lifts it to his nose.

 

“I’ve just been imagining how it might look spread over my pillows for half a year now,” he says.

 

The sudden heat that pools low in Loki’s belly leaves him a little dizzy, but he manages to collect himself quickly enough and reply, “That could be arranged.” 

 

“Oh, I sincerely hope so.”

 

When Thor kisses him again, Loki is ready for it, and meets him halfway.

 

* * *

 

Dinner somehow manages to fly by in a matter of seconds while simultaneously lasting several days. That likely has something to do with the way Thor’s arm continually brushes Loki’s as they sit at their shared bench, which is still too small for both of them but decidedly more comfortable this time around. It also doesn’t hurt that nearly every time Loki darts a glance at Thor from the corner of his eye, Thor is already sneaking a look at him as well… and more than once, Loki has to hide his smile in his cup, not quite ready to share this latest development with his father.

 

Then again, it’s probably too late for that… Ottar had come to fetch them the very instant Loki had started to contemplate wrenching himself away from Thor long enough to lock the door and skip dinner entirely, and the boy’s hurried, _I’ll just go tell his majesty you’re on your way_ , told Loki everything he needed to know about just how much he’d seen.

 

(Also, Laufey’s undoubtedly noticed that Thor keeps looking at Loki like he’s the center of the universe, and try as he might, Loki suspects he may be doing more of the same than he means to.)

 

But Laufey says nothing of it, and when he takes his leave at the end of the meal, he only wishes Thor a pleasant trip home, and leaves Loki and Thor standing in the hall while the servants begin clearing the table.

 

“My men are staying in the city, making sure all is well with the soul forge,” Thor says, keeping a respectful distance, obviously conscious of the eyes upon them, “and I had thought to stay overnight myself, but perhaps I should go now. I have much to discuss with my father, after all.”

 

Loki can’t fault him for wanting to hurry home, especially not for the sake of the conversation to be had, but still, he finds himself blurting out a response before he can think about it twice.

 

“It’s awfully late, though,” he says, not having any idea of the time whatsoever. “And it’s such a long flight back to the palace once you get back… I really think you ought to stay. Your old quarters are still furnished and ready.”

 

The half-second it takes for Thor to understand his meaning is a verifiable torment, but he can see the precise moment it registers, Thor’s eyes widening minutely and throat working as he swallows.

 

“You’re absolutely right,” Thor tells him with a nod.

 

One of the servants volunteers to show their guest to his room then, saving Loki from having to think of something to say to that. 

 

(He’s thankful, because the jolt that had accompanied the realization that he’d just _propositioned_ Thor has left him quite incapable of speech for the moment.)

 

* * *

 

It’s well past midnight by the time the rest of the palace has turned in for the evening, and Loki makes his careful way through the corridors, stopping at each corner to ensure he isn’t seen. He still hasn’t decided if this is the best or worst idea he’s ever had, and no matter how clearly he recalls the nearly hungry look in Thor’s eyes, he can’t stop wondering if he’d been too forward, too desperate.

 

But then he sees that Thor’s chamber door has been left ever so slightly ajar, and just like that, his concerns vanish. He’s expected. 

 

It’s hard to ignore the way his heart stutters in his chest.

 

It takes longer than it should for him to work up the courage to go in, but he eventually does so and locks the door behind him. But if he’d thought that Thor would be waiting for him in the sitting room, he quickly sees that he’s wrong; it’s as quiet and empty as the halls had been… but the bedroom door is open as well, and he slips through it before he can second-guess himself, his bare feet silent on the stone floor.

 

The lit braziers on either side of the bed put off just enough warm light to see that Thor is leaning on an elbow, halfway propped against the headboard of his bed, a book open on the furs in front of him. Waiting, bare-chested with his hair loose and falling over one shoulder.

 

Loki lets the sound of the door latching behind him announce his presence. 

 

He has nothing clever to say when Thor looks up at him and very deliberately closes his book, picks it up, and sets it on the table next to him, his eyes on Loki’s all the while. He doesn’t have anything at all to say, actually, clever or otherwise, and so he moves instead, putting one foot in front of the other until he’s standing next to the bed, heart hammering against his ribs. What to do next is a mystery, however, until Thor moves his legs out of the way, making room for him there on the edge. 

 

The fact that Thor is bare everywhere else is not lost on Loki when the furs shift as he sits down.

 

“No more doubts then?” Thor asks him quietly. He’s leaned forward a bit, but Loki takes note of how he’s keeping his hands to himself for the moment.

 

Here they are with nothing left to stop them, he thinks, and still, Thor gives him his space, asks him if he’s sure. He’s known for months now how good Thor truly is at his core, even when he’d wanted to strangle him in his sleep out in the wilds, and how many times since then has Thor proven himself? Over and over, he’s shown how highly he values Loki not just as a potential romantic partner, but _personally_ , seeking out his opinion and perspective… and that has always extended beyond Loki himself as well. Thor has continually gone out of his way to try and change Asgardian attitudes and prejudices where he can, to educate himself and his realm, and… and Loki finds his answer then. 

 

“Oh, I have plenty,” he says, quite truthfully, “but none about you.”

 

Before Thor can say a word in reply, Loki moves, climbing into his lap and making himself at home there, which is so very easy to do when Thor gets ahold of him by the hips and pulls him in even closer. 

 

“Loki,” is all Thor manages to get out, and then they’re kissing again, Loki pouring all the things he hasn’t been able to say into it, and very likely doing a terrible job of it. But Thor doesn’t seem to mind, so Loki tries to stop thinking so much and go along with what feels best… and that turns out to be arching back into Thor’s touch, letting his eager hands roam where they will over Loki’s back and sides while he enjoys every searing moment of it. 

 

He does have to break away for air eventually, but Thor continues on down the side of his throat without him, and when Thor’s fingers find a nipple, Loki can’t hold in his gasp or the involuntary buck of his hips. 

 

“ _Ah_ , Loki,” Thor says again, and in a flash, Loki finds himself on his back with Thor’s warm, solid weight above him. But before Thor can pick up where he left off, Loki realizes he’s forgotten something, and he stops Thor with a hand pressed against his chest.

 

“Just a moment,” he says, and reaches up to untie his hair, still braided from when he’d made a show of getting ready for bed earlier, and shakes it out, hoping it’s fanned over the bedding beneath him satisfactorily. “How’s that?”  


 

Thor gives him a grin and says, “Better than I ever imagined,” and then he dives back in.

 

His hands continue their exploration, along with his mouth, and Loki doesn’t know what sort of contribution he should be making here, or if he’s even capable of doing more than lying back and trying not to come undone. Thor seems to have things under control, however, and the brush of his beard over Loki’s shoulders and collarbone is a maddening contrast to his plush lips.

 

But then the nudge of Thor’s cock, hard and hot against the inside of his thigh, has Loki speaking up unsteadily, just to try and distract himself. 

  
“What else have you imagined?” he asks, and Thor stops midway down his sternum to look up at him, blue eyes looking unusually dark in the low light. 

 

“Quite a lot,” he admits. 

 

The curl of heat in Loki’s groin leaves him nearly breathless, and he decides to keep his mouth shut from then on. 

 

Thor takes his time, steadily working his way down Loki’s chest and stomach, taking detours to follow clan lines with his tongue when he finds them, his hands moving over Loki’s ass and down his thighs, easing them even further apart. Every new sensation has Loki squirming, his cock twitching in his loincloth and straining against it, and he’s certain that he’s never been so wet in his entire life—and Thor hasn’t even touched him there yet.

 

It was only a matter of time, however, and Loki bites his lip when Thor reaches for the tie of his loincloth, suddenly apprehensive. He knows that _Thor_ knows what lies under it, but there’s quite a bit of difference between a healer’s illustration in an anatomy book and the real thing—and then there’s warm air on his skin as the cloth is tugged away, and Thor lets out groan that has Loki nearly panicking. 

 

_What is it?_ he means to ask, but he doesn’t get any further than, “Wha—,” before it turns into a series of nothing but strangled noises, courtesy of Thor’s tongue as it makes its slow and devastating way all the way up his slit and the length of his cock.

 

_“Norns,”_ Thor breathes against his skin, and at first, the only reply that Loki can manage is to get a handful of his hair and tug. 

 

“Get up here,” he pants. 

 

As much as he’d _really_ like for Thor to do that again, he isn’t sure he’d survive it. Even the brief drag of bare skin over Loki’s cock as Thor crawls back up the bed is nearly enough to send him over the edge, as desperate as he is, but he wants Thor in him first.

 

“I wasn’t finished, you know,” Thor tells him with a smug little smirk, but Loki just pulls him down and kisses the taste of himself from Thor’s lips, and that shuts him up rather effectively. 

 

The first touch of Thor’s cock against his own is a revelation, but not what he’s after. Still, he can’t keep from urging his hips up against Thor’s once, twice—but the third is too close to too much, and he shifts himself up until he can feel the press of slick, warm skin against his cunt. 

 

Thor pants out a ragged breath then, and too impatient to wait any longer, Loki wraps his legs around Thor’s waist and presses into it. 

 

The slow slide is just as good as he’d hoped, but the way Thor eases nearly all the way out and back in again is even better, and Loki lets out a moan when it happens again, that exquisite warmth spreading a little more and more with each thrust. Before this diplomatic exchange, he’d often wondered what all the fuss was about when his hand, imagination, and a suitably shaped object, if he’d been in the mood for it, had worked just fine—surely he wasn’t missing out on anything—but now with Thor’s hands fisted in the bedding on either side of his head, the heat between them, their breath mingling as they move together, he knows he’ll never be content without this again, without Thor. 

 

And then he remembers that he doesn’t have to be. For all the thousands of years left to him, Thor is his. 

 

Thor makes no complaint when Loki pulls him closer, or when he unintentionally digs his nails into Thor’s back thanks to the new angle and the increased urgency that comes with it. Thor’s thrusts are shallow now, and faster, every single one driving against that spot inside that makes Loki’s toes curl, and Loki’s beginning to think that he’ll come from this alone with a little more time. 

 

He doesn’t get to find out, however, because once the building pleasure starts to draw soft little noises from him, Thor props himself up on an elbow and reaches down between them with his other hand. Though Loki knows exactly what he means to do with it, he isn’t prepared for the feeling of Thor’s rough fingers wrapping around his cock, and it doesn’t take more than a few gentle strokes before he’s spilling over his stomach with an inarticulate cry, grinding back against Thor, desperate to keep that overwhelming pressure right where he needs it. Thor doesn’t falter in his rhythm, not until Loki is ready to collapse back on the furs, spent and breathless, but then his thrusts turn erratic, and only moments later, he gasps Loki’s name as he buries himself deep and comes as well. 

 

Loki would have been content to keep Thor inside him and above him for the rest of the night, but after one last slow, lazy kiss, Thor sighs and pulls away. He isn’t gone for long though, and once he’s made a perfunctory attempt at cleaning them up, he settles in next to Loki (still stretching his legs out, trying to work out some of the stiffness in his hips) and gathers him up in his arms. 

 

“I can’t possibly sleep like this,” Loki complains halfheartedly, and Thor shushes him. But he supposes that it really won’t be too warm if he stays out from under the furs himself… 

 

He’s proven right not long after, when the day—the last several months really, and all the accompanying highs and lows, finally catch up with him, and he drops off with his head on Thor’s shoulder.

 

* * *

 

When Loki wakes again, there’s the barest sliver of faint sunlight shining in through a crack in the shutters, and he follows it across the floor, over the bearskin on the ground beside the bed, and finally up and over his chest, where it cuts an even paler stripe over Thor’s hand resting just over his breastbone. 

 

He recalls it all perfectly, and now, in the light of day (quite literally), he finds that, while his remaining misgivings about the future still stand, he knows that he’s made the right choice. What manner of difficulty the two of them will have to face is uncertain, but it will undoubtedly present itself soon enough, and he supposes that all he can do is simply be prepared for it.

 

Perhaps easing into things will help, he thinks. Thor had told him his first day in Asgard that he was more than welcome to be himself, but it would probably be best to introduce his natural shape slowly, a little at a time, and allow the people to grow accustomed to it. It would be uncomfortable, but he might even try to wear his Aesir-style clothing over his Jotunn skin for a while—

 

“Stop thinking,” Thor grumbles into his hair, and draws him in closer.

 

“Don’t start telling me what to do,” Loki replies, but lets himself be manhandled anyway, and relishes the feeling of Thor at his back, all that warm skin with nothing else between them—not to mention the press of a half-hard length against Loki’s backside. He smiles into the furs beneath him, remembering a similar but oh so different morning months ago in a tent in the mountains, and thinking how the times have changed. 

 

He also arches his back and grinds back against Thor. 

 

“Mmn, stay there and let me take your mind off whatever’s bothering you,” Thor tells him, sliding a hand down his stomach… but Loki _did_ just tell him…

 

Thor lets out an _oof_ when Loki twists around and presses him flat against the bed, straddling his hips.

 

“I _just_ told you not to tell me what to do,” he sighs, feigning annoyance, but Thor only grins up at him, unapologetic, so he adds, “You’re lucky I love you,” before he bends down to kiss him. 

 

“I am well aware of it,” Thor says when they part. 

 

* * *

 

The palace staff have been up and preparing for the day for hours by the time Loki manages to drag himself out of bed and make his way back to his own rooms, but, by some miracle, no one spots him with his hair in disarray and Thor’s seed still slipping out of him and drying on the insides of his thighs. 

 

And when he meets the son of Odin in the courtyard to bid him and his men a formal farewell, his armor and mail skirt gleaming, no one comments on the long and promise-laden look the two of them share, Jotunn or Asgardian. 

 

Just before he’s borne away in a blast of multicolored light, Thor gives Loki one last smile and calls out to him over the roar of the Bifrost.

 

“I’ll see you soon,” he says.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what I could possibly say to get across just how grateful I am for all the love you guys have shown me and this fic over the last several months. I didn't intend for it to snowball into this >40k nonsense, but honestly? I'm glad it did. This fic has been my baby since I started planning it out in April, and now that it's done, I don't really know what to do with myself lol. 
> 
> So I wrote a follow up oneshot :D
> 
> You'll note that this is now part 1 of a series, and though I have no plans for a full-length, plotty sequel, I do have a few snippets from this verse that I'd like to throw out there. Now would be an excellent time to subscribe to the series if you don't wanna miss any of those, or you could commit even more fully and just subscribe to me as an author ;)
> 
> Seriously, though, thank you so much for reading and commenting. I couldn't have made it through this without you guys :') 
> 
> Stay tuned for the first follow up, aaaaaand for my Big Bang, which I'm super excited to finally share with everyone :D


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